

library of 


NITED STATES 


OP AMERICA 












Lxsr I 


!» ' t - 'T io 


-.r“ 


>vjnj\ • 


^H^pnih * wU 

^ '"'X 

■ 'Ip' u: 


'/r-', 



’ *. 


/-■ 1 - /y^.SVAJ il< •■ ! ;*■ .> 


• v^ r 


A>VV-' ^ 

A . 'rf ■• > . 

<■ — - 


C I 


r ( 


ir-f ' ■■•^: 



w 

* ' 


• ■-' ’•»/. vs 

*“A . . 


-.-/cy 


f / w 



I. 




- \ 


i,; % 




■ .S':' 








?• Ik" •■■#;' ■ 

HK -« Affi& . 









’V 


I 'V 




>»• 







• %*,j 




. 'j 




’'*#V 




".a » 


X* 


ij i.A .'T 3 •> L * y ^ * 


V 



* 




^ ^'• 



.» • ' ^ 


jb: 


% 




;*h' 


^ :^'> i 

hd, y 


i-s - 


* . * A 


f-V 


iS 




--■ i. 

« 


* ; * ‘ 

t • 


I* -i*'\ 


vS 


T 


'•••* 




V . ..tr •- 

It ./ 



^ - - 


1*^ . * 




•/ ' » i,. 
. . #• • ►* 




r^TT ^ • J- 


l?“ ■^^;j#; :' "; 'V 

||?y^' f ■ T •■ . . v- fT* ^1 • ■ i . 


s. , 

< 



iAK(-.2-.,^>.^..'i -. «r,\ 


V>X 





iSSJv^i's 

i'WJjgSEi /.•' 



■ 

■ / <A, 


^ -• 








*!•*•••, ■■ * - 





.' 5 - •*’* ir 


> 


y. 



I 


ir I 


- 47 y 





ik^c.^:.:JM^i .. ' r:,-‘ ■*■ • ■ 



'>!#•.. • * #.«• « I / vCl' 

'-'■'■^^."“Vv y 'k'lw "'’-'^■r' ^ ‘ '-iMi 












1 

J 


i 




r 



> 




\ 





%* 


. i 


• V 




1 







I 







t 


• ■ ’ 





V 


I 


\ 



w 


». t 



I ^ 


4 


t 

* f 


f 


4 


4 




n 



f 


I 




1 





fi 

r 

t 






1 


f 



V 


4 


* 




I 


t 

t 

1 1 »' 
I 



V 


i 






f 







^ r 
\ , 





i 


V ' 




THE 


MAID OF SKER. 

a. NoBti. • 

y 

By R. D. BLACKMORE, 

AUTHOR OF “CRADOCK NOWELL,” &C. 

3 ^ 



NEW YORK: 

HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN SQUARE. 

1872. 



)/ 

CRADOCK NOWELL. 


A NOVEL. 

By R. p. BLACKMORE, Author of “The Maid of Sker.” 
8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 


This is a clever novel, decidedly original in style and mode of treatment ; it is amusing too, 
and the reader who once fairly enters upon it will hardly fail to read it through. There are some 
excellent descriptions of forest scenery, and a storm at sea, with the wreck of a ship, which are 
very powerfully given . — Athenceumy London. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

2 !!^=* Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on receipt of 75 cents. 


The Maid of Sker. 


CHAPTER I, 

FISHERMAN DAVY A FISH OUT OF WATER. 

I AM but an ancient fishennan upon the coast 
of Glamorganshire, with work enough of my 
own to do, and trouble enough of my own to 
heed, in getting my poor living. Yet no peace 
there is for me among my friends and neighbors, 
unless I will set to and try — as they bid me twice 
a day, perhaps — whether I can not tell the rights 
of a curious adventure which it pleased Provi- 
dence should happen, off and on, amidst us, now 
for a good many years, and with many ins and 
outs to it. They assure me, also, that all good 
people who can read and write, for ten, or it may 
be twenty, miles around the place I live in, 
will buy my book — if I can make it — at a higher 
price, perhaps, per pound, than they 'would give 
me even for sewin, which are the very best fish I 
catch : and hence provision may be found for the 
old age and infirmities now gaining upon me, 
every time I try to go out fishing. 

In this encouragement and prospect I have lit- 
tle faith, knowing how much more people care 
about what they eat than what they read. Nev- 
ertheless I will hope for the best, especially as my 
evenings now are very long and wearisome ; and 
I was counted a hopeful scholar, fifty years agone 
perhaps, in our village school here — not to men- 
tion the Royal Navy ; and most of all, because a 
very wealthy gentleman, whose name will appear 
in this story, has promised to pay all expenses, 
and £50 down (if I do it well), and to leave me 
the profit, if any. 

Notwithstanding this, the work of writing must 
be very dull to me, after all the change of scene, 
and the open air and sea, and the many sprees 
ashore, and the noble fights with Frenchmen, and 
the power of oaths that made me jump so in his 
majesty’s navy. God save the king and queen, 
and members of the royal family, be they as many 
as they will — and they seem, in faith, to be mani- 
fold. But His power is equal to it all, if they 
will but try to meet Him. 

However, not to enter upon any view of poli- 
tics — all of which are far beyond the cleverest 
hand at a bait among us — I am inditing of a 
thing very plain and simple, when you come to 
understand it ; yet containing a little strange- 
ness, and some wonder, here and there, and apt 
to move good people’s grief at the wrongs we do 
one another. Great part of it fell under mine 
owm eyes, for a period of a score of years, or 
something thereabout. My memory still is pret- 
ty good ; but if I contradict myself, or seem to 
sweep beyond my reach, or in any way to meddle 
with things which I had better have let alone, 
as a humble man and a Christian, I pray you to 


lay the main fault thereof on the badness of the 
times, and the rest of it on my neighbors. For I 
have been a roving man, and may have gathered 
much of evil from contact with my fellow-men, 
although by nature meant for good. In this I 
take some blame to myself ; for if I had polished 
my virtue well, the evil could not have stuck to 
it. Nevertheless, I am, on the whole, pretty well 
satisfied with myself ; hoping to be of such qual- 
ity as the Lord prefers to those perfect wonders 
with whom he has no trouble at all, and therefore 
no enjoyment. 

But sometimes, taking up a book, I am pester- 
ed with a troop of doubts; not only about my 
want of skill, and language, and exjierience, but 
chiefly because I never have been a man of con- 
summate innocence, excellence, and high wisdom, 
such as all these writers are, if we go by their own 
opinions. 

Now, when I plead among my neighbors, at 
the mouth of the old well, all the above, my sad 
short-comings, and my own strong sense of them 
(which perhaps is somewhat over-strong), they 
only pat me on the back, and smile at one anoth- 
er, and make a sort of coughing noise, according 
to my bashfulness.^ And then, if I look pleased 
(which for my life I can not help doing), they 
wink, as it were, at one another, and speak up 
like this : 

“Now, Davy, you know better. You think 
yourself at least as good as any one of us, Davy, 
and likely far above us all. Therefore, Davy the 
fisherman, out Avith all you have to say, without 
any French palaver. You have a way of telling 
things so that we can see them.” 

With this, and with that, and most of all with 
hinting about a Frenchman, they put me on my 
mettle, so that I sit upon the side-stones of the 
old-well gallery (which are something like the 
companion-rail of a fore-and-after), and gather 
them around me, with the householders put fore- 
most, according to their income, and the children 
listening between their legs ; and thus I begin, 
but neA’er end, the tale I now begin, to you, and 
perhaps shall never end it. 

6 


CHAPTER II. 

HUNGER DRIVES HIM A-FISHING. 

In the summer of the year 1782, I, DaA'id 
Llewellyn, of Newton-Nottage, fisherman and old 
sailor, Avas in A-^ery great distress and trouble, more 
than I like to tell you. My dear Avife (a faithful 
partner for eight-and-twenty years, in spite of a 
veiy quick temper) Avas lately gone to a better 
Avorld ; and I missed her tongue and her sharp 


8 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


look-out at almost every corner. Also my son (as 
tine a seaman as ever went aloft), after helping 
Lord Rodney to his great victory over Grass the 
Frenchman, had been lost in a prize-ship called 
the Jbnner, of 54 guns and 500 Crappos, which 
sank with all hands on her way home to Spithead, 
under Admiral Graves. His young wife (who 
been sent to us to see to, with his blessing) no 
sooner heard of this sad atfair as in the Gazette 
reported, and his pay that week stopped on her, 
but she fell into untimely travail, and was dead 
ere morning. So I buried my wife and daugh- 
ter-in-law, and lost all chance to bury my son, 
between two Bridgend market-days. 

Now this is not very much, of course, compared 
with the troubles some people have. But I had 
not been used to this sort of thing, except in case 
of a messmate ; and so I was greatly broken 
down, and found my eyes so weak of a morning, 
that I was ashamed to be seen out-of-doors. 

The only one now to keep a stir or sound of 
life in my httle cottage, which faces to the church- 
yard, was my orphan grandchild “ Bunny,” 
daughter of my son just drowned, and his only 
child that we knew of. Bunny was a rare strong 
lass, five years old about then, I think ; a stout 
and hearty-feeding child, able to chew every bit 
of her victuals, and mounting a fine rosy color, 
and eyes as black as Archangel pitch. 

One day, when I was moping there, all abroad 
about my bearings, and no better than water-bal- 
lasted, the while I looked at my wife’s new broom, 
now carrying cobweb try-sails, this little Bunny 
came up to me as if she had a boarding-pike, and 
sprang into the netting hammocks of the best black 
coat I wore. 

“ Grandda!” she said, and looked to know in 
W'hat way I would look at her ; “ Grandda, I 
must have sumkin more to eat.” 

“Something more to ea|^” I cried, almost 
with some astonishment, well as I knew her ap- 
petite ; for the child had eaten a barley -loaf, and 
two pig’s feet, and a dog-fish. 

Yes, more; more bexfass, grandda.” And 
though she had not the words to tell, she put her 
hands in a way that showed me she ought to 
have more solid food. I could not help looking 
sadly at her, proud as I was of her appetite. 
But recovering in a minute or two, I put a good 
face upon it. 

“ My dear, and you shall have more,” I said ; 
“only take your feet out of my pocket. Little 
heart have I for fishing, God knows ; but a-fish- 
ing I will go this day, if Mother Jones will see to 
you.” 

For I could not leave her alone quite yet, al- 
though she was a brave little maid, and no fire 
now was burning. But within a child’s trot from 
my door, and down towards the sand-hills, was 
that famous ancient well of which I spoke just 
now, dedicate to St. John the Baptist, where they 
used to scourge themselves. The village church 
stood here, they say, before the inroad of the 
sand ; and the water was counted holy. How 
that may be, I do not know ; but the well is very 
handy. It has a little gray round tower of stone 
domed over the heart of it, to which a covered 
way goes down, with shallow steps irregular. If 
it were not for this plan, the sand would whelm 
the whole of it over ; even as it has overwhelmed 
all the departure of the -spring, and the cottages 
once surrounding it. Down these steps the chil- 


dren go, each with a little brown pitcher, hold- 
ing hands and groping ?it the sides as the place 
feels darker. And what with the sand beneath 
their feet, and the narrowing of the roof above, 
and the shadows moving round them, and the 
doubt where the water begins or ends (which no- 
body knows at any time), it is much but what 
some one tumbles in, and the rest have to pull 
her out again. 

For this well has puzzled all the country, and 
all the men of great learning, being as full of 
contrariety as a maiden courted. It comes and 
goes, in a manner, against the coming and go- 
ing of the sea, which is only half a mile from it ; 
and twice in a day it is many feet deep, and 
again not as many inches. And the water is so 
crystal-clear, that down in the dark it is like a 
dream. Some people say that John the Baptist 
had nothing to do with the making of it, because 
it was made before his time by the ancient fami- 
ly of De Sandford, who once owned all the man- 
ors here. In this, however, I have no faith, hav- 
ing read my Bible to better purpose than to be- 
li^'e that John the Baptist was the sort of man 
to claim any thing, least of all any w'ater, unless 
he came honestly by it. 

In either case, it i^veiy pretty to see the chil- 
dren round the entrance on a summer afternoon, 
when they are sent for water. They are all a 
little afraid of it, partly because of its maker’s 
name, and his having his head on a charger, and 
partly on account of its curious ways, and the 
sand coming out of its “nostrils” when first it 
begins to flow. 

That day with which I begin my story, Mrs. 
Jones was good enough to take charge of little 
Bunny ; and after getting ready to start, I set 
the thong of our latch inside, so that none but 
neighbors who knew the trick could enter our lit- 
j tie cottage (or rather “mine” I should say now) ; 
j and thus with conger-rod, and prawn-net, and a 
long pole for the bass, and a junk of pressed to- 
bacco, and a lump of barley-bread, and a May- 
bird stuffed with onions (just to fine off the fishi- 
ness), away I set for a long-shore day, upon as 
dainty a summer morn as ever shone out of the 
heavens. 

‘ ‘ Fisherman Davy ” (as they call me all around 
our parts) was fifty and two years of age, I be- 
lieve, that very same July, and with all my heart 
I wish that he were as young this very day. For 
I never have found such call to enter into the 
affairs of another world as to forget ray business 
here, or press upon Providence impatiently for a 
more heavenly state of things. People may call 
me worldly-minded for cherishing such a view of 
this earth ; and perhaps it is very wrong of me. 
However, I can put up with it, and be in no un- 
kindly haste to say “ good-bye ” to my neighbors. 
For, to my mind, such a state of seeking, as many 
among us do even boast of, is, unless in a bad 
cough or a perilous calenture, a certain proof of 
curiosity displeasing to our Maker, and I might 
even say of fickleness degrading to a true Briton. 

The sun came down upon my head, so that I 
thought of by-gone days, when I served under 
Captain Howe, or Sir Edward Hawke, and used 
to stroll away upon leave, with half a hundred 
Jacks ashore, at Naples, or in Bermudas, or 
wherever the luck might happen. Now, how- 
ever, Avas no time for me to think of strolling, 
because I could no longer live at the expense of 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


9 


the Government, which is the highest luck of all, 
and full of noble dignity. Things were come to 
such a push that I must either w'ork or starve ; 
and could I but recall the past, I would stroll 
less in the days gone by. A pension of one-and- 
eightpence farthing for the weeks I was alive 
(being in right of a heavy wound in capture of 
the Bellona^ Frenchman, of two-and-thirty guns, 
by his majesty’s frigate Vesta, under Captain 
Hood) was all 1 had todiold on by, in support of 
myself and Bunny, except the slippery fish that 
come and go as Providence orders them. She 
had sailed from Martinique, when luckily we fell 
in with her ; and I never shall forget the fun, 
and the five hours at close quarters. We could 
see the powder on tlie other fellows’ faces while 
they were training their guns at us, and we show- 
ed them, with a slap, our noses, which they never 
contrived to hit. She carried heavier metal than 
ours, and had sixty more men to work it, and 
therefore Ave Avere obliged at last to capture her 
by boarding. I, like a fool, Avas the first that 
leaped into her mizzen-chains, without looking 
before me, as ought to have been. The French- 
men came too fast upon me, and gave me more 
than I bargained for. 

Thus it happened that I fell off, in the A'ery 
prime of life and strength, from an able-bodied 
seaman and captain of the fore-top to a sort of 
lurcher along shore, and a man who must get his 
OAvn living Avith nets and rods and such-like. For 
that very beautiful fight took place in the year 
1759, before I Avas thirty years old, and before 
his present most gracious majesty came to the 
throne of England. And inasmuch as a villain- 
ous Frenchman made at me with a cutlass, and 
a poAver of blue oaths (taking a nasty advantage 
of me, Avhile I Avas yet entangled), and thumped 
in three of my ribs before a kind ProA'idence en- 
abled me to relieAm him of his head at a Woaa^ — I 
Avas discharged, Avhen Ave came to. opithead, Avith 
an excellent character in a silk bag, and a con- 
siderable tightness of breathing, and leave to beg 
my Avay home again. 

Noav, I had not the smallest meaning to enter 
into any of these particulars about myself, espe- 
cially as my story must be all about other people 
— beautiful maidens, and fine young men, and seA’- 
eral of the prime gentry. But as I have written 
it, so let it stay ; because, perhaps, after all, it is 
Avell that people should have some little knoAvl- 
edge of the man they have to deal Avith, and learn 
that his character and position are a long Avay 
above all attempt at deceit. 

To come back once again, if you please, to 
that very hot day of July, 1782 — whence I mean 
to depart no more until I have fully done Avith it 
— both from the state of the moon, I kneAv, and 
from the neap Avhen my Avife Avent oflf, that the 
top of the spring Avas likely to be in the dusk of 
that same evening. At first I had thought of 
going doAvn straight beloAv us to NeAvton Bay, 
and peddling over the Black Rocks towards the 
Ogmore River, some tAvo miles to the east of us. 
But the bright sun gave me more enterprise ; and 
remembering hoAv the tide would ebb, also how 
loAV my pocket Avas, I felt myself bound, in honor 
to Bunny, to make a real push for it, and thor- 
oughly search the conger-holes and the lobster- 
ledges, Avhich are the best on all our coast, round 
about Pool Tavan, and down beloAV the old house 
at Sker. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE FISH ARE AS HUNGRY AS HE IS. 

To fish at Sker had ahvays been a matter of 
some risk and conflict ; inasmuch as Evan Thom- 
as, who lived in the ancient house there, and kept 
the rabbit- Avarren, never could be brought to knoAV 
that the sea did not belong to him. He had a 
grant from the manor, he said, and the shore was 
part of the manor ; and Avhosoever came hanker- 
ing there was a poacher, a thief, and a robber. 
With these hard Avords, and harder bloAvs, he 
kept off most of the neighborhood ; but I ahvays 
felt that the lurch of the tide Avas no more than 
the heeling of a ship, and therefore that any one 
free of the sea was free of the ebb and floAV of it. 

So Avhen he began to reproach me once, I al- 
loAved him to SAvear himself thoroughly out, and 
then, in a steadfast manner, said, “Black E\'an, 
the shore is not mine or yours. Stand you here 
and keep it, and I will never come again for in 
three hours’ time there Avould be a fathom of wa- 
ter Avhere we stood. And Avhen he caught me 
again, I ansAvered, “Evan Black, if you catch 
me inland, meddling with any of your land-goods, 
coneys, or hares, or partridges, give me a leath- 
ering like a man, and I must put up Avith it ; but 
dare you touch me on this shore, Avhich belongs 
to our lord the king, all the Avay under high-Ava- 
ter mark, and, by the rod of the Red Sea, I Avill 
shoAv you the laAv of it.” 

He looked at me and the pole I bore, and, 
heuA'y and strong man as he Avas, he thought it 
Aviser to speak me fair. “ Well, Avell, Dyo, deai*;” 
he said, in Welsh, having scarce any English, 
“you have seiwed the king, Dyo, and are bound 
to knoAV Avhat is right and wrong ; only let me 
knoAv, good man, if you see any other rogues fish- 
ing here.” 

This I promised him freely enough, because, 
of course, I had no objection to his forbidding 
other people, and especially one vile Scotchman. 
Yet, being a man of no liberality, he never could 
see .even me fish there Avithout folloAving and 
abusing me, and most of all after a market-day. 

That tide I had the rarest sport that ever you 
did see. Scarcely a conger-hole I tried without 
the landlord being at home, and biting savagely 
at the iron, Avhich came (like a rate) upon him ; 
Avhereupon, I had him by the jaAV, as the tax-col- 
lector Las us. Scarcely a lobster -shelf I felt, 
tickling as I do under the Aveeds, but Avhat a grand 
old soldier came to the portcullis of his strong- 
hold, and nabbed the neat-hide up my fingers, 
and stuck thereto till I hauled him out “nolus- 
Avoluss,” as Ave say ; and there he shoAved his pur- 
ple nippers, and his great long Avhiskers, and then 
his sides — hooped like a cask — till his knuckled 
legs fought Avith the air, and the lobes of his tail 
were quivering. It Avas fine to see these felloAvs, 
Avorth at least. a shilling, and to pop them into 
my basket, Avhere they clawed at one another. 
Glorious luck I had, in truth, and began to for- 
get my troubles, and the long Avay home agffin to 
a lonely cottage, and my fear that little Bunny 
Avms passing a sony day of it. She should have 
a neAV pair of boots, and mother Jones a good 
Sunday dinner; and as for myself, I AAmuld think, 
perhaps, about half a glass of fine old rum (to re- 
mind me of the naAy), and a pipe of the short-cut 
Bristol tobacco — but that must depend upon cir- 
1 cumstances. 


10 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


Now circumstances had so much manners (con- 
trary to their custom) that they contrived to Keep 
themselves continually in my favor. Not only 
did I fetch up and pile a noble heap of oysters 
and mussels just at the lowest of the ebb, but af- 
ter that, when the tide was flowing, and my work 
grew brisker — as it took me by the calves, and 
my feet were not cut by the mussels more than I 
could walk upon — suddenly I found a thing beat- 
ing all experience both of "the past and future. 

This was, that the heat of the weather, and the 
soft south wind prevailing, had filled the deep salt- 
water pools among the rocks of Pool Tavan, and 
as far as Funnon Gwyn, with the finest prawns 
ever seen or dreamed of ; and also had peopled 
the shallow pools higher up the beach with shoals 
of silver mullet-fry — small indeed, and as quick 
as lightning, but well worth a little trouble to 
catch, being as fine eating as any lady in the land 
could long for. 

And here for a moment I stood in some doubt, 
whether first to be down on the prawns or the 
mullet; but soon I remembered the tide would 
come first into the pools that held the prawns. 
Now it did not take me very long to fill a great 
Holland bag with these noble fellows, rustling 
their whiskers, and rasping their long saws at one 
another. Four gallons I found and a little over, 
when I came to measure them ; and sixteen shil- 
lings I made of them, besides a good many which 
Bunny ate raw. 

Neither was my luck over yet, for being now in 
great heart and good feather, what did I do but 
fall very briskly upon the gray mullet in the pools ; 
and fast as they scoured away down the shallows, 
fluting the surface with lines of light, and hud- 
dling tlie ripples all up in a curve, as they swung 
themselves round on their tails with a sweep, 
when they could swim no farther — nevertheless it 
was all in vain, for I blocked them in with a mole 
of kelp, weighted with heavy pebbles, and then 
baled them out at my pleasure. 

Now the afternoon was wearing away, and the 
flood making strongly up channel by the time I 
came back from Funnon Gwyn — whither the 
mullet had led me — to my head-quarters opposite 
Sker farm-house, at the basin of Pool Tavan. 
This pool is made by a ring of rocks sloping in- 
ward from the sea, and is dry altogether for two 
hours’ ebb and two hours’ flow of a good spring- 
tide, except so much as a little land-spring, slid- 
ing down the slippery sea-weed, may have power 
to keep it moist. 

A wonderful place here is for wild-fowl, the 
very choicest of all I know, both when the sluice 
of the tide runs out and when it comes swelling 
back again ; for as the water ebbs away with a 
sulky wash in the hollow places, and the sand 
runs down in little crannies, and the bladder- 
weeds hang trickling, and the limpets close their 
valves, and the beautiful jelly-flowers look no 
better than chilblains — all this void and glistening 
basin is at once alive with birds. 

First the sea-pie runs and chatters, and the 
turn-stone pries about with his head laid sideways 
in a most sagacious manner, and the sanderlings 
glide in file, and the greenshanks separately. 
Then the shy curlews over the point warily come, 
and leave one to watch ; while the brave little 
mallard teal, with his green triangles glistening, 
stands on one foot in the fresh-water runnel, and 
shakes with his quacks of enjoyment. 


Again, at the freshening of the flood, when the 
round pool fills with sea (pouring in through the 
gate of rock), and the waves push merrily on- 
ward, then a mighty stir arises, and a different 
race of birds — those which love a swimming din- 
ner — swoop upon Pool Tavan. Here is the giant 
gray gull, breasting (like a cherub in church) be- 
fore he douses down his head, and here the ele- 
gant kittywake, and the sullen cormorant, in the 
shadow swimming; and the swiftest of swift 
wings, the silver-gray sea-swallow, dips like a 
butterfly and is gone ; while from slumber out at 
sea, or on the pool of Kenfig, in a long wedge, 
cleaves the air the whistling flight of wild-ducks. 

Standing upright for a moment, with their red 
toes on the water, and their strong wings flapping, 
in they souse with one accord and a strenuous de- 
light. Then ensues a mighty quacking of unan- 
imous content, a courteous nodding of quick 
heads, and a sluicing and a shovelling of water 
over shoulder-blades, in all the glorious revelry 
of insatiable washing. 

Recovering thence, they dress themselves in a 
sober-minded manner, paddling very quietly, 
proudly puffing out their breasts, arching their 
necks and preening themselves, titivating (as we 
call it) with their bills in and out the down, and 
shoulders up to run the wet off; then turning 
their heads, as if on a swivel, they fettle their 
backs and their scapular plume. Then, being as 
clean as clean can be, they begin to think of their 
dinners, and with stretched necks down they dive 
to catch some luscious morsel, and all you can see 
is a little shaip tail and a pair of red feet kicking. 

Bless all their innocent souls, how often I 
longed to have a good shot at them, and might 
have killed eight or ten at a time with a long gun 
heavily loaded ! But all these birds knew, as well 
as I did, that I had no gun with me; and al- 
though they kept at a tidy distance, yet they let me 
look at them, which I did with great peace of 
mind all the time I was eating my supper. The 
day had been too busy till now to stop for any 
feeding ; but now there would be twenty minutes 
or so ere the bass came into Pool Tavan, for these 
like a depth of water. 

So, after consuming my bread and maybird, and 
having a good drink from the spring, I happened 
to look at my great flag-basket, now ready to 
burst with congers, and lobsters and mullet, and 
spider-crabs for Bunny (who could manage any 
quantity), also with other good salable fish ; and 
I could not help saying to myself, “Come, after 
all now, Davy Llewellyn, you are not gone so far 
as to want a low Scotchman to show you the 
place where the fish live.” And with that I lit a 
pipe. 

What with the hard work, and the heat, and 
the gentle plash of wavelets, and the calmness of 
the sunset, and the power of red onions, what did 
I do but fall asleep as snugly as if I had been on 
watch in one of his majesty’s ships of the line 
after a heavy gale of wind ? And Avhen I woke 
up again, behold, the shado\vs of the rocks were 
over me, and the sea was saluting the calves of 
my legs, which up to that mark were naked ; and 
but for my instinct in putting my basket up on a 
rock behind me, all my noble catch of fish must 
have gone to the locker of Davy Jones. 

At this my conscience smote me hard, as if I 
were getting old too soon ; and with one or two 
of the short strong words which I had learned in 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


11 


the navy, where the chaplain himself stirred us 
up with them, up I roused and rigged my pole for 
a good bout at the bass. At the butt of the ash 
was a bar of square oak, figged in with a screw- 
bolt, and roven round this was my line of good 
hemp, twisted evenly, so that if any fish came 
who could master me, and pull me off the rocks 
almost, I could indulge him with some slack by 
unreeving a fathom of line. At the end of the 
pole was a strong loop-knot, through which ran 
the line, bearing two large hooks, with the eyes 
of their shanks lashed tightly with cobbler’s ends 
upon whip-cord. The points of the hooks were 
fetched up with a file, and the barbs well black- 
ened, and the whole dressed over with whale-oil. 
Then upon one hook I fixed a soft crab, and on 
the other a cuttle-fish. There were lug-worms 
also in my pot, but they w'ould do better after 
dark, when a tumbling cod might be on the feed. 

Good luck and bad luck has been my lot ever 
since I can remember ; sometimes a long spell of 
one, wing-and-wing as you might say, and then a 
long leg of the other. But never in all my born 
days did I have such a spell of luck in the fishing 
way as on that blessed 10th of July, 1782. 

What to do with it all now became a puzzle, 
for I could not carry it home all at once ; and as 
to leaving a bit behind or refusing to catch a sin- 
gle fish that wanted to be caught, neither of these 
was a possible thing to a tine-born fisherman. 

At last things came to such a pitch that it was 
difficult not to believe that all must be the crowd 
and motion of a very pleasant dream. Here was 
the magic ring of the pool, shaped by a dance of 
sea-fairies, and the fading light shed doubtfully 
upon the haze of the quivering sea, and the silver 
water lifting like a mirror on a hinge, while the 
black rocks seemed to nod to it ; and here was I 
pulling out big fishes almost faster than I cast in. 

♦ 

CHAPTER IV. 

HE LANDS AN UNEXPECTED FISH. 

Now, as the rising sea came sliding over the 
coronet of rocks, as well as through the main en- 
trance — for even the biim of the pool is covered 
at high water — I beheld a glorious sight, stored 
in my remembrance of the southern regions, but 
not often seen at home. The day had been very 
hot and brilliant, with a light air from the south ; 
and at sunset a haze arose, and hung as if it were 
an awning over the tranquil sea. First, a gauze 
of golden color, as the western light came through, 
and then a tissue shot with red, and now a veil of 
silvery softness, as the summer moon grew bright. 

Then the quiet waves began — as their plaited 
lines rolled onward into frills of whiteness — in 
the very curl and fall, to glisten with a flitting 
light. Presentl}’’, as each puny breaker overshone 
the one in front, not the crest and comb alone, 
but the slope behind it, and the crossing flaws 
in-shore gleamed with hovering radiance and 
soft flashes vanishing; till, in the deepening of 
the dusk, each advancing crest was sparkling with 
a mane of fire, every breaking wavelet glittered 
like a shaken seam of gold. Thence the shower 
of beads and lustres lapsed into a sliding tier, 
moving up the sands with light, or among the 
pebbles breaking into a cataract of gems. 

Being an ancient salt, of course 1 was not dis- 


mayed by this show of phosphorus, nor even much 
astonished, but rather pleased to watch the bright- 
ness, as it brought back to my mind thoughts of 
beautiful sunburnt damsels whom I had led along 
the shore of the lovely Mediterranean. Yet our 
stupid landsmen, far and wide, were panic-struck ; 
and hundreds fell upon their knees, expecting the 
last trump to sound. All I said to myself was 
this: “No wonder I had such sport to-day; 
change of w^eather soon, I doubt, and perhaps a 
thunder-storm.” 

As I gazed at all this beauty, trying not to go 
astray with wonder and with weariness, there, in 
the gate-way of black rock, with the offing dark 
behind her, and the glittering waves upon their 
golden shoulders bearing her — sudden as an ap- 
parition came a smoothly-gliding boat. Beaded 
all athwart the bows and down the bends with 
drops of light, holding stem well up in air, and 
the forefoot shedding gold, she came as straight 
towards this poor and unconverted Davy as if an 
angel held the tiller, with an admiral in the stern- 
sheets. 

Hereupon such terror seized me, after the w’on- 
ders of the day, that my pole fell do^vnright into 
the water (of which a big fish wronged me so as 
to slip the hook and be off again), and it was no 
more than the turn of a hair but what I had run 
away head over heels. For the day had been so 
miraculous, beginning with staiwation, and going 
on with so much heat and hard work and enjoy- 
ment, and such a draught of fishes, that a poor 
body’s wits w’ere gone with it; and therefore I 
doubt not it must have been an especial decree 
of Providence that in turning round to run away 
I saw my big fish-basket. 

To carry this over the rocks at a run was en- 
tirely impossible (although I was still pretty good 
in my legs), but to run away without it w’as a 
great deal more impossible for a man who had 
caught the fish himself; and beside the fish in 
the basket, there must have been more than two 
hundred-weight of bass that would not go into it. 
Three hundred and a half in all was W'hat I set it 
down at, taking no heed of prawns and lobsters ; 
and with any luck in selling, it must turn two 
guineas. 

Hence, perhaps, it came to pass (as much as 
from downright bravery, of which sometimes I 
have some little) that I felt myself bound to creep 
back again, under the shade of a cold wet rock, 
just to know what that boat was up to. 

A finer floatage I never saw, and her lines were 
purely elegant, and she rode above the water with- 
out so much as parting it. Then, in spite of all 
my fear, I could not help admiring ; and it struck 
me hotly at the heart, “Oh, if she is but a real 
boat, what a craft for my business!” And with 
that I dropped all fear. For I had not been able, 
for many years, to carry on my Ashing as skill 
and knowledge warranted, only because I could 
not afford to buy a genuine boat of my own, and 
hitherto had never won the chance without the 
money. 

As yet I could see no soul on board. No one 
was rowing, that was certain, neither any sign 
of a sail to give her steerage-way. However, she 
kept her course so true that surely there must be 
some hand invisible at the tiller. This conclu- 
sion flurried me again very undesirably, and I set 
my right foot in such a manner as to be off in a 
twinkling of any thing unholy. 


12 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


But God has care of the little souls which no- 
body else takes heed of ; and so He ordained that 
the boat should heel, and then yaw across the 
middle of the pool ; but for which black rocks 
alone would have been her welcome. 

At once my heart came back to me ; for I saw i 
at once, as an old sailor pretty well up in ship- 
wrecks, that the boat was no more than a derelict ; 
and feeling that here was my chance of chances, 
wortii perhaps ten times my catch of fish, I set 
myself in earnest to the catching of that boat. 

Therefore I took up my pole again, and find- 
ing that the brace of fish whom I had been over- 
scared to land had got away during my slackness, 

I spread tlie hooks, and cast them both, with the 
slugs of lead upon them, and half a fathom of 
spare line ready, as far as ever my arms would 
throw. 

The flight of the hooks was beyond my sight, 
for the phosphorus spread confusion ; but I heard 
most clearly the thump, thump of the two leaden 
bobs — the heavy and the light one — upon hollow 
planking. Upon this I struck as I would at a 
fish, and the hooks got hold (or at any rate one 
of them), and I felt the light boat following faster 
as she began to get way on the haul ; and so I 
drew her gently towards me, being still in some 
misgiving, although resolved to go through with it. 

But, bless my heart ! when the light boat glided 
buoyantly up to my very feet, and the moon shone 
over the stai'board gunwale, and without much 
drawback I gazed at it — behold! the little craft 
was laden with a freight of pure innocence ! All 
for captain, crew, and cargo, was a little helpless 
child. In the stern-sheets, fast asleep, with the 
baby face towards me, lay a little child in white. 
Something told me that it was not dead, or even 
ailing ; only adrift upon the world, and not at all 
aware of it. Quite an atom of a thing, taking 
God’s will anyhow ; cast, no doubt, according to 
the rocking of the boat, only with one tiny arm 
put up to keep the sun away, before it fell asleep. 

Being quite taken aback with pity, sorrow, and 
some anger (which must have been of instinct), I 
laid hold of the bows of the skiff, and drew her 
up a narrow channel, where the land-spring found 
its way. The lift of a round wave helped her on, 
and the bladder-weed saved any chafing. A 
brand-new painter (by the feel) it was that I 
caught hold of; but instead of a hitch at the end, 
it had a clean sharp cut across it. Having made 
it fast with my fishing-pole jammed hard into a 
crevice of rock, I stepped on board rather ginger- 
ly, and, seating myself on the forward thwart, 
gazed from a respectful distance at the little stran- 
ger. 

The light of the moon was clear and strong, 
and the phosphorus of the sea less dazing as the 
night grew deeper, therefore I could see pretty 
well ; and I took a fresh plug of tobacco before 
any farther meddling. For the child was fast 
asleep ; and, according to my experience, they 
are always best in that way. 


CHAPTER V. 

A LITTLE ORPHAN MERMAID. 

By the clear moonlight I saw a very wee maid- 
en, all in white, having neither cloak nor shawl, 
nor any other soft appliance to protect or comfort 


her, but lying with her little back upon the aft- 
most planking, with one arm bent (as I said be- 
fore), and the other drooping at her side, as if 
the baby-hand had been at work to ease her cry- 
ing ; and then, when tears were tired out, had 
dropped in sleep or numb despair. 

My feelings were so moved by this, as I be- 
came quite sure at last that here was a little mor- 
tal, that the tears came to mine own eyes too, 
she looked so purely pitiful. “The Lord in 
heaven have mercy on the little dear!” I cried, 
without another thought about it ; and then I 
went and sat close by, so that she lay between 
my feet. 

However, she would not awake, in spite of my 
whistling gradually, and singing a little song to 
her, and playing with her curls of hair; there- 
fore, as nothing can last forever, and the tide was 
rising fast, I was forced to give the little lady, not 
what you would call a kick so much as a very 
gentle movement of the muscles of the foot. 

She -opened her eyes at this, and yawned, but 
was much inclined to shut them again ; till I (hav- 
ing to get home that night) could make no farther 
allowance for her, as having no home to go to ; 
and upon this I got over all misgivings about the 
dirtiness of my jacket, and did what I had feared 
to do, by reason of great respect for her ; that is 
to say, I put both hands veiy carefully under her, 
and lifted her like a delicate fish, and set her 
crosswise on my lap, and felt as if I understood 
her ; and she could not have weighed more than 
twenty pounds, according to my heft of fish. 

Having been touched with trouble lately, I was 
drawn out of all experience now (for my nature 
is not over-soft) towards this little thing, so cast, 
in a dream almost, upon me. I thought of her 
mother, well drowned, no doubt, and the father 
who must have petted her, and of the many times 
to come when none would care to comfort her. 
And though a child is but a child, somehow I 
took to that child. Therefore I became most anx- 
ious as to her state of body, and handled her lit- 
tle mites of feet, and her fingers, and all her out- 
works ; because I was not sure at all that the 
manner of her yawning might be nothing more 
or less than a going out of this world almost. Por 
think, if you can see it so, how every thing was 
against her. To be adrift without any food, or 
any one to tend her, many hours, or days, per- 
haps, with a red-hot sun or cold stars overhead, 
and the greedy sea beneath her ! 

However, there she was alive, and warm, and 
limp, to the best of my judgment, sad though I 
was to confess to myself that I knew more of bass 
than of babies. For it had always so pleased 
God that I happened to be away at sea when He 
thought fit to send them ; therefore my legs went 
abroad with fear of dandling this one, that now 
was come, in a way to disgrace a seaman ; for if 
she should happen to get into irons, I never could 
get her out again. 

Upon that matter, at any rate, I need not have 
concerned myself, for the child was so trim and 
well ballasted, also ribbed so stiff and sound, that 
any tack I set her on she would stick to it and 
start no rope; and knoiving that this was not 
altogether the manner of usual babies (who yaw 
about, and no steerage-way), I felt encouraged, 
and capable almost of a woman’s business. There- 
fore I gave her a little tickle ; and verily she be- 
gan to laugh, or perhaps I should say, by rights, 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


13 


to smile, in a gentle and superior way — for she 
always was superior. And a funnier creature 
never lived, neither one that could cry so distress- 
fully. 

“Wake up, wake up, my deary,” said I, “and 
don’t you be afraid of me. A fine little girl I’ve 
got at home, about twice the size that you be, 
and goes by the name of ‘ Bunny.’ ” 

“ Bunny!” she said ; and I was surprised, not 
being up to her qualities, that she could speak so 
clearly. Then it struck me that if she could talk 
like that I might as well know more about her. 
So I began, very craftily, with the thing all chil- 
dren are proud about, and are generally sure to 
be up to. 

“Pretty little soul,” I said, “how old do you 
call yourself?” 

At this she gathered up her forehead, not be- 
ing used to the way I put it, while she was trying 
to think it out. 

“ How old are you, deary ?” said I, trying hard 
to suck up my lips and chirp, as I had seen the 
nurses do. 

“I’se two, I’se two,” she answered, looking 
with some astonishment; “didn’t ’a know that? 
Hot’s ’a name ?” 

This proof of her high standing and knowledge 
of the world took me for the moment a good deal 
off my legs, until I remembered seeing it put as 
a thing all must give in to, that the rising gener- 
ation was beyond our understanding. So I an- 
SAvered, very humbly, “Deaiy, my name is ‘Old 
Davy.’ Baby, kiss Old Davy.” 

“I ’ill,” she answered, briskly. “Old Davy, 
I likes ’a. I’ll be a good gal, I ’ill.” 

“A good girl! To be sure you will. Bless 
my heart, I never saw such a girl !” And I kiss- 
ed her three or four times over, until she began 
to smell my plug, and Bunny was nobody in my 
eyes. “But what’s your own name, deary, now 
yon knoAV Old Davy’s name?” 

“I’se Bardie. Didn’t ’a know that ?” 

“To be sure I did;” for a little fib was need- 
ful from the Avay she looked at me, and the big- 
gest one ever told would have been a charity un- 
der the circumstances. 

“Pease, Old Davy, I’se aye hungy,” she went 
on ere I was right again, “ and I ’ants a dink o’ 
yater.” 

“What a fool I am!” cried 1. “Of course 
you do, you darling. What an atomy yon are 
to talk! Stop here a moment.” 

Setting her on the seat by herself (like a stupid, 
as I was, for she might have tumbled overboard), 
I jumped out of the boat to fetch her w'ater from 
the spring-head, as well as the relics of my food 
from the corner of the fish-basket. And truly 
vexed was I with myself for devouring of my 
dinner so. But no sooner was I gone, than feel- 
ing so left alone again after so much desertion, 
what did the little thing do but spring like a per- 
fect grasshopper, and, slipping under the after- 
thwart, set off' in the bravest toddle, for the very 
bow of the boat, in fear of losing sight of me? 
Unluckily, the boat just happened to lift upon a 
bit of a waA^e, and, not having AA'on her sea-legs 
yet in spite of that long cruise, doAvn came poor 
Bardie Avith a thump, Avhich hurt me more than 
her, I think. 

KnoAving Avhat Bunny Avould have done, I ex- 
pected a fearful roar, and back I ran to lift her 
up. But even before I could interfere, slie Avas 


up again and all alive, with both her arms stretch- 
ed out to shoAv, and her face set hard to defy her- 
self. 

“ I ’ont ky, I ’ont, I tell ’a. ’Ee see if I does 
noAV, and ma say hot a good gal I is.” 

“Where did you knock yourself, little wonder ? 
Let Old Davy make it Avell. ShoAV Old DaA’y 
the poor sore place.” 

“Nare it is. Gardy la! nare poor Bardie 
knock herself.” 

And she held up her short Avhite frock, and 
shoAved me the bend of her delicate round knee 
as simply and kindly as could be. 

“I ’ont ky ; no, I ’ont,” she Avent on, Avith her 
pretty lips screAved up. “Little brother ky, ’e 
knoAv; but Bardie a gate big gal, savAy voo? 
Bardie too big enough to ky.” 

However, all this greatness vanished when a 
drop of blood came oozing from the long black 
bruise, and still more when I tried to express my 
deep compassion. The sense of bad luck Avas 
too strong for the courage of even tAvo years’ 
groAvth, and little Bardie proved herself of just 
the right age for ciying. I had observed how 
clear and brig.itiand musical her A'oice Avas for 
such a tiny creature ; and noAv the sound of her 
great woe, and scene of her poor helpless plight, 
Avas enough to move the rocks into a sense of pity 
for her. 

HoAA^eA’er, while she had her cry out (as the 
tide Avould never Avait), I took the liberty of stOAA^- 
ing all my fish and fishing-tackle on board of 
that handy little boat, Avhich I began to admire 
and long for more and more every time I stepped 
from the rock into her fore- sheets. And finding 
hoAV tight and crank she aa'us, and full of spring 
at eA^ery step, and with a pair of good ash sculls, 
and, most of all, discovering the snuggest of snug 
lockers, my conscience (always a foremost fea- 
ture) shoAved me in the strongest light that it 
Avould be a deeply ungracious, ungrateful, and 
CA^en sinful thing, if I failed to thank an ever-Avise 
and overruling Brovklence for sending me this 
useful gift in so express a manner. 

And taking this pious and humble vieAv of tlie 
night’s occurrence, I soon perceived a special fit- 
ness in the time of its ordering. For it happened 
to be the very night Avhen Evan Thomas Avas out 
of the way, as I had been told at Nottage, and 
the steAvard of the manor safe to be as drunk as 
a fiddler at Bridgend ; and it Avas not more than 
a feAv months since that envious Scotchman Sandy 
MacraAv (a scuiwy limb of the coast-guards, Avho 
li\'ed by poaching on my born rights), had set 
himself up Avith a boat, forsooth, on purpose to 
rogue me and rob me the better. No doubt he 
had stolen it someAvhere, for he first appeared at 
night Avith it ; and now here Avas a boat, in all 
honesty mine, Avhich Avould travel tAvo feet for 
each one of his tub! 

By the time I had finished these grateful re- 
flections, and resolved to contribute any unsold 
crabs to the Dissenting minister’s salary (in rec- 
ognition of the hand of Providence, and Avhat he 
had taught me concerning it no longer ago than 
last Sabbath-day, Avhen he said that the Lord 
Avould make up to me for the loss of my poor 
Avife, though never dreaming, I must confess, of 
any tiling half so good as a boat), and by the 
time that I had moored this special mercy snug- 
ly, and hidden the oars, so that no vile Avrecker 
could make off with her feloniously, that dear lit- 


14 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


tie child was gro^vn quiet again, being unable to 
cry any more, and now beginning to watch my 
doings as much as I could wish, or more. 

She never seemed tired of watching me, having 
slept out all her sleep for the moment ; and as I 
piled up fish on fish, and they came sliding, slip- 
pery, she came shyly, eying them with a desire 
to see each one, pushing her mites of fingers out, 
and then drawing back in a hurry as their bellies 
shone in the moonlight. Some of the congers 
could wriggle still, and they made her scream 
when they did it : but the lobsters were her chief 
delight, being all alive and kicking. She came 
and touched them reverently, and ready to run 
if they took it amiss ; and then she stroked their 
whiskers, crying, “Pitty, pitty! jolly, jolly ! ” till 
one great fellow, who knew no better, would have 
nipped her wrist asunder if I had not ricked his 
claw. 

“Now, deary,” said I, as I drew her away, 
“you have brought poor old Davy a beautiful 
boat, and the least that he can do for you is to 
get you a good supper.” For since her tumble 
the little soul had seemed neither hungry nor 
thirsty. 

“Pease, Old Davy,” she answered, “I ’ants 
to go to mamma and papa, and ickle bother and 
Susan.” 

“The devil you do!” thought I, in a whistle, 
not seeing my way to a fib as yet. 

“Does ’ee know mamma and papa, and ickle 
bother. Old Davy ?” 

“To be sure I do, my deary — better than I 
know you, almost.” 

“ ’Et me go to them, ’et me go to them. Hot 
ma say about my poor leggy peggy ?” 

This was more than I could tell ; believing her 
mother to be, no doubt, some thirty fathoms un- 
der water, and her father and little brother in 
about the same predicament. 

“ Come along, my little dear, and I’ll take you 
to your mother. ” This was what I said, not be- 
ing ready, as yet, with a corker. 

“ I’se yeady, Old Davy,” she answered ; “ I’se 
kite yeady. Hen’ll ’e be yeady ? Peshyvoo.” 

“Ready and steady: word of command! 
march!” said I, looking up at the moon, to try 
to help me out of it. But the only thing that I 
could find to help me in this trouble was to push 
about and stir, and keep her looking at me. She 
was never tix*ed of looking at things with life or 
motion in them ; and this I found the special 
business of her nature afterwards. 

Now, being sure of my boat, I began to think 
what to do with Bardie. And many foolish ideas 
came, but I saw no way to a wise one, or at least 
I thought so then, and unhappily looked to pru- 
dence more than to gracious Providence, for which 
I have often grieved bitterly, ever since it turned 
out who Bardie was. 

For the present, however (though strongly smit- 
ten with her manners, appearance, and state of 
shipwreck, as well as impressed with a general 
sense of her being meant for good-luck to me), I 
could not see my way to take her to my home and 
support her. Many and many times over I said 
to myself, in my doubt and uneasiness, and per- 
haps more times than need have been if my con- 
science had joined me, that it was no good to be 
a fool, to give way (as a woman might do) to 
the sudden affair of the moment, and a hot-heart- 
ed mode of regarding it. And the harder I work- 


ed at the stowing of fish, the clearer my duty ap- 
peared to me. 

So by the time that all was ready for starting 
with this boat of mine, the sea being all the while 
as pretty as a pond by candle-light, it was settled 
in my mind what to do with Bardie. She must 
go to the old Sker House. And having taken a 
special liking (through the goodness of my na- 
ture and the late distress upon me) to this little 
helpless thing, most sincerely I prayed to God 
that all might be ordered for the best ; as indeed, 
it always is, if we leave it to Him. 

Nevertheless, I ought never to have left it to 
Him, as every one now acknowledges. But how 
could I tell ? 

By this time she began to be overcome with cir- 
cumstances, as might happen naturally to a child 
but two years old, after long exposure without 
any food or management. Scared, and strange, 
and tired out, she fell down anyhow in the boat, 
and lay like a log, and frightened me. Many 
men would have cared no more, but, taking the 
baby for dead, have dropped her into the grave 
of the waters. I, however, have always been of 
a very different stamp from these ; and all the 
wax’s, and discipline, and doctx’ine I have encoun- 
tex’ed, never could imbue me with the cruelty of 
my betters. Therefore I was shocked at think- 
ing that the little dear was dead. 

♦ 

CHAPTER VI. 

FINDS A HOME OF SOME SORT. 

However, it was high time now, if we had 
any hope at all of getting into Sker House that 
night, to be up and moving. For though Evan 
Thomas might be late, Moxey, his wife, would be 
early ; and the door would open to none but the 
master after the boys were gone to bed. For the 
house is vei’y lonely ; and people no longer inno- 
cent as they used to be in that neighbox’hood. 

I found the child quite warm and nice, though 
ovex-whelmed with weight of sleep ; and setting 
her cx'osswise on my shoulders, whence she slid 
down into my bosom, over the I’ocks I picked my 
way by the light of the full clear moon, towax’ds 
the old Sker Gx'ange, which stands a little back 
fx’om the I’idge of beach, and on the edge of the 
sand-hills. 

This always was, and always must be, a vei'y 
sad and lonesoxne place, close to a desolate waste 
of sand, and the continual I’oaring of the sea upon 
black x'ocks. A gx-eat gray house, with many 
chimneys, many gables, and many windows, yet 
not a neighbor to look out on, not a tree to feed 
its chimneys, scai'ce a fix-e-light in its gables in 
the very depth of winter. Of course, it is said to 
be haunted ; and though I believe not altogether 
in any stoi’ies of that kind — despite some vex-y 
stx’ange things, indeed, which I have beheld at sea 
— at any I’ate, I would rather not hear any yax’us 
on that matter just before bed-time in that house ; 
and most people woixld agx’ee with me, unless I 
am much mistaken. 

For the whole neighboi'hood — if so you may call 
it, where there are no neighbors — is a vei’y queer 
one — stormy, wild, and desolate, with little more 
than x’oeks and sand and sea to make one’s choice 
among. As to the sea, not only dull and void it 
is of any haven, or of px’oper tx’affic, but as dan- 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


15 


gerous as need be, even in good weather, being 
full of draughts and currents, with a tide like a 
mill-race, sutfering also the ups and downs which 
must he where the Atlantic Ocean jostles with 
blind narrowings: it offers, moreover, a special 
peril (a treacherous and shifty one) in the shape 
of some horrible quicksands, known as the “Sker 
Weathers:” these at the will of storm and cur- 
rent change about from place to place, but are, 
for the most part, some two miles from shore, and 
from two to four miles long, according to circum- 
stances ; sometimes almost bare at half-tide, and 
sometimes covered at low water. If any ship 
falls into them, the bravest skipper that ever stood 
upon a quarter-deck can do no more than pipe 
to prayers, though one or two craft have escaped 
when the tide was rising rapidly. 

As for the shore, it is no better (when once you 
get beyond the rocks) than a stretch of sand-hills, 
■with a breadth of flaggy marsh behind them all 
the way to the mouth of Neath River, some three 
leagues to the westward. Eastward, the scene 
is fairer inland, but the coast itself more rugged 
and steep, and scarcely more inhabited, having 
no house nearer than Rhwychyns, which is only 
a small farm nearly two miles from Sker Grange, 
and a mile from any other house. And if you 
strike inland from Sker — that is to say, to the 
northward — there is nothing to see but sand, 
warren, and furze, and great fields marked with 
rubble, even as far as Kenfig. 

Looking at that vast lonely house, there were 
two things I never could make out. The first 
was, who could ever have been mad enough to 
build it there ? — for it must have cost a mint of 
money, being all of quarried and carried stone, 
and with no rich farm to require it. And the 
second thing was still worse a puzzle : how could 
any one ever live there ? 

As to the first point, the story is, that the 
house was built by abbots of Neath, when own- 
ers of Sker Manor, adding to it, very likely, as 
they followed one another ; and then it was used 
as their manor-court, and for pui*poses more im- 
portant, as a place of refection, being near good 
fisheries, and especially Kenfig Pool, stocked with 
all fresh-water fish, and every kind of wild-fowl. 

But upon the other question, all that I can say 
is this : I have knocked about the world a good 
bit, and have suffered many trials, by the which 
I am, no doubt, chastened and highly rectified ; 
nevertheless, I would rather end my life among 
the tombstones, if only allowed three farthings’ 
worth of tobacco every day, than live with all 
those abbots’ luxuries in that old gray house. 

However, there were no abbots now, nor any 
sort of luxury — only a rough unpleasant farmer, a 
kind but slovenly wife of his, and five great lads, 
notorious for pleasing no one except themselves ; 
also a boy of a different order*, as you soon shall 
see. 

Thinking of all this, I looked with tenderness 
at the little dear, fallen back so fast asleep, inno- 
cent and trustful, with her head upon my shoul- 
der, and her breathing in my beard. Turning 
away at view of the house, I brought the moon- 
light on her face, and this appeared so pure, and 
calm, and fit for better company, that a pain went 
to my heart, as in Welsh we speak of it. 

Because she was so fast asleep, and that alone 
is something holy in a very little child ; so much 
it seems to be the shadow of the death itself, in 


their pausing fluttering lives, in their want of wit 
for dreaming, and their fitness for a world of 
which they must know more than this ; also, to 
a man who feels the loss of much believing, and 
what grievous gain it is to make doubt of every 
thing, such a simple trust in Him, than whom we 
find no better father, such a confidence of safety 
at the very outset seems a happy art unknown, 
and tempts him back to ignorance. Well a^vare 
what years must bring, from all the ill they have 
brought to us, we can not watch this simple sort 
without a sadness on our side, a pity, and a long- 
ing, as for something lost and gone. 

In the scoop betw'een two sand-hills such a 
power of moonlight fell upon the face of this 
baby, that it only wanted the accident of her lift- 
ing bright eyes to me to make me cast away all 
prudence, and even the dread of Bunny. But a 
man at my jjjime of life must really look to the 
main chance^'first, and scout all romantic visions ; 
and another face means another mouth, how- 
ever pretty it may be. Moreover, I had no wife 
now, nor woman to look after us ; and what can 
even a man-child do, without their apparatus? 
While, on the other hand, I knew that (however 
dreary Sker might be) there was one motherly 
heart inside it. Therefore it came to pass that 
soon the shadow of that dark house fell upon the 
little one in my arms, while with a rotten piece 
of timber, which was lying handy, I thumped and 
thumped at the old oak door, hut nobody came 
to answer me ; nobody even seemed to hear, 
though every knock went farther and farther into 
the emptiness of the place. 

But just as I had made up my mind to lift the 
latch, and to walk in freely, as I would have done 
in most other houses, but stood upon scruple with 
Evan Thomas, I heard a slow step in the dis- 
tance, and Moxy Thomas appeared at last — a 
kindly-hearted and pleasant woman, but apt to 
be low-spirited (as was natural for Evan’s wife), 
and not very much of a manager. And yet it 
seems hard to blame her there, when I come to 
think of it, for most of the women are but so, 
round about our neighborhood — sanding up of 
room and passage, and forming pattenis on the 
floor every other Saturday, and yet the roof all 
frayed with cobwebs, and the corners such as, in 
the navy, we should have been rope-ended for. 

By means of nature, Moxy was shaped for a 
thoroughly good and lively woman ; and such no 
doubt she would have been, if she had had the 
luck to marry me, as at one time was our signifi- 
cation. God, however, ordered things in a dif- 
ferent manner, and no doubt He was considering 
what might be most for my benefit. Neverthe- 
less, in the ancient days, when I was a fine young 
tar on leave, and all Sunday-school set caps at me 
(perhaps I was two-and-twenty then), the only 
girl I would allow to sit on the crossing of my 
legs, upon a well-dusted tombstone, and suck 
the things I carried for them (all being fond of 
peppermint), was this little Moxy Stradling, of 
good Newton family, and twelve years old at that 
time. She made me swear on the blade of my 
knife never to have any one but her ; and really 
I looked forward to it as almost beyond a joke ; 
and her father had some money. 

‘ ‘ Who’s there at this time of night ?” cried 
Moxy Thomas, sharply, and in Welsh of course, 
although she had sorae English ; ‘ ‘ pull the latch, 
if you be honest. Evan Black is in the house.” 


16 


THE :maid oe sker. 


By the tone of her voice I knew that this last 
was a fib of fright, and glad I was to know it so. 
Much the better -chance was left me of disposing 
Bardie somewhere, where she might be comfort- 
able. 

Soon as Mrs. Thomas saw us by the light of a 
home-made dip, she scarcely stopped to stare be- 
fore she Avanted the child out of my arms, and 
was ready to devour it, guessing that it came 
from sea, and talking all the while, full gallop, as 
women find the Avay to do. I was expecting fif- 
ty questions, and, no doubt, she asked them, yet 
seemed to answer them all herself, and be vexed 
with me for talking, yet to want me to go on. 

“Moxy, now be quick,” I said; “this little 
thing from out the sea — ” 

“Quick is it? Quick, indeed ! Much quick 
you are. Old Dyo !” she replied in English. 

‘ ‘ The darling dear, the pretty love ! ” for the child 
had spread its hands to her, being taken Avith a 
W'oman’s dress. 

“Gwe her to me, clumsy DaAW. Is it that 
AA'ay you do cany her ?” 

“Old Davy tarry me aye nicely, I tell ’a. 
Old Davy good and kind ; and I ’ont have him 
called kumsy.” 

So spake up my tAvo-year-old, astonishing me 
(as she always has done) by her wonderful clever- 
ness, and suiqjrising Moxy Thomas that such clear 
good Avords should come from so small a creature. 

“ My goodness me! you little vixen ! Avherever 
did you come from ? Bring her in yourself, then, 
Dyo, if she thinks so much of you. Let me feel 
her. Not Avet she is. Wherever did you get her ? 
Put her on this little stool, and let her Avarm them 
mites of feet till I go for bread and butter. ” 

Although the Aveather Avas so hot, a fire of coal 
and drift-AA'ood AV'as burning in the great chimney- 
place, for cooking of Black EA’an’s supper ; be- 
cause he AA’as an outrageous man to eat, AvheneA'cr 
he Avas drunk, AA'hich (as a doctor told me once) 
shoAvs the finest of all constitutions. 

But truly there Avas nothing else of life, or 
cheer, or comfort, in the great, sad, stony room. 
A floor of stone, six gloomy door-Avays, and a 
black-beamed ceiling — no Avonder that my little 
darling coAvered back into my arms, and put both 
hands before her eyes. 

“ No, no, no !” she said. “ Bardie doesn’t 
’ike it. When mamma come, she be veiy angry 
Avith ’a. Old DaA'y.” 

I felt myself bound to do exactly as Mrs. 
Thomas ordered me, and so I carried Miss Fin- 
ical to the three-legged stool of fir-Avood Avhich 
had been pointed out to me ; and having a crick 
in my back for a moment after bearing her so 
far, doAAUi I set her upoii her oAAm legs, which, 
although so neat and pretty, AA'ere uncommonly 
steadfast. To my astonishment, off she started 
(before I could fetch myself to think) over the 
rough stone flags of the hall, trotting on her toes 
entirely, for the very life of her. Before I could 
guess Avhat she Avas up to, she had pounced upon 
an old kitchen -tOAvel, neAvly Avashed, but full of 
splinters, hanging on a three-legged horse, and 
back she ran in triumph Avith it — for none could 
say that she toddled — and Avith a Avant of breath, 
and yet a vigor that made up for it, turned up 
her little mites of sleeA'es, and began to rub Avith 
all her power, but Avith a highly skillful turn, the 
top of that blessed three-legged stool, and some 
Avay doAvn the sides of it. 


' “What’s the matter, my dear?” I asked, al- 
most losing my mind at this, after all her other 
wonders. 

‘ ‘ Dirt, ” she replied ; ‘ ‘ degustin’ dirt ! ” ncA’er 
stopping to look up at me. 

“ What odds for a little dirt, when a little soul 
is hungry ?” 

“Bardie a boofley kean gal, and this ’tool de- 
gustin’ cochong!” Avas all the reply she A'ouch- 
safed me ; but I saAV that she thought less of me. 
HoAvever, I Avas glad enough that Moxy did not 
hear her, for Mrs. Thomas had no unreasonable 
ill-Avill tOAvards dirt, but rather liked it in its place ; 
and Avith her its place AA’^as eA'erywhere. But I, 
being used to see eA^eiy cranny searched and 
scoured Avith holy-stone, blest, moreoA'er,. AA'hen 
ashore with a wife like Amphitrite (Avho used to 
come aboard of us), could thoroughly enter into 
the cleanliness of this Bardie, and thought more 
of her accordingly. 

While this little trot was Avorking, in the purest 
ignorance of father and of mother, yet perhaps in 
her tiny mind hoping to have pleased them both, 
back came Mrs. Thomas, bringing all the best she 
had of comfort and of cheer for us, although not 
much to speak of. 

I took a little hollauds hot, on purpose to oblige 
her, because she had no rum ; and the little baby 
had some milk and rabbit-graA’y, being set up in 
a blanket, and made the most Ave could make of 
her. And she ate a truly beautiful supper, sit- 
ting gravely on the stool, and putting both hands 
to her mouth in fear of losing any thing. All 
the boys Avere gone to bed after a long day’s rab- 
biting, and Evan Black still on the spree ; so that 
I Avas very pleasant (knowing my boat to be quite 
safe) towards my ancient SAveetheart. And Ave 
got upon the old times so much, in a pleasing, in- 
nocent, teasing way, that but for fear of that A'ile 
Black EA'an we might have forgotten poor Bardie. 

-o- 

CHAPTER VII. 

BOAT VERSUS BARDIE. 

Glad as I Avas, for the poor child’s sake, that 
black Ea^uu happened to be from home, I had 
perhaps some reason also to rejoice on my OAvn 
account. For if any thing of any kind could CA'er 
be foretold about that most uncertain felloAv’s 
conduct, it was that Avhen in his cups he Avould 
fight — Avith cause, if he could find any; other- 
Avise, without it. 

And in the present case, perhaps, Avas some lit- 
tle cause for fighting ; touching (as he no doubt 
AA’Ould think) not only his marital but manorial 
rights of plunder. Of course, betAveen Moxy and 
myself all AA'as purely harmless, each being thank- 
ful to have no more than a pleasant eye for the 
other ; and of course, in really serious Avays, I had 
done nokarm to him ; that boat never being his, 
except by doAvnright piracy. NeA'ertheless fcAv 
men there are Avho look at things from Avhat I 
may call a large and open standing-place; and 
Evan might even go so far as to think that I did 
him a double Avrong in taking that which Avas his, 
the boat, and leaving that Avhich should haA'e been 
mine — to Avit, the little maiden — as a helpless 
burden upon his hands, Avithout so much as a 
change of clothes ; and all this after a great day’s 
sport among his rocks, Avithout lus permission ! 


THE JVIAID OF SKER. 


17 


Feeling how hopeless it would be to reason 
these matters out with him, especially as he was 
sure to be dmiik, I was glad enough to say 
“Good-night” to my new young pet, now fast 
asleep, and to slip oif quietly to sea witli my little 
frigate and its freight, indulging also my natural 
pride at being, for the first time in my life, a le- 
gitimate ship-owner and independent deep-sea 
fisherman. By this time the tide was turned, of 
course, and running strong against me as I laid 
her head for Newton Bay by the light of the full 
moon ; and proud I was, without mistake, to find 
how first I could send my little crank barky 
against the current, having been a fine oarsman 
in my day, and always stroke of the captain’s gig. 

But as one who was well acquainted with the 
great dearth of honesty (not in our own parish 
only, but for many miles around), I could not see 
my way to the public ownership of this boat, 
without a deal of trouble and vexation. Hap- 
pening so that I did not buy it, being thoroughly 
void of money (which was too notorious, especial- 
ly after two funerals conducted to every body’s 
satisfaction), big rogues would declare at once, 
judging me by themselves perhaps, that I had 
been and stolen it. And likely enough, to the 
back of this, they would lay ma half a dozen mur- 
ders and a wholesale piracy. 

Now^ I have by nature the very strongest affec- 
tion for truth that can be reconciled with a good 
man’s love of reason. But sometimes it happens 
so that we must do violence to ourselves for the 
sake of our fellow-creatures. If these, upon oc- 
casion offered, are only too sure to turn away and 
reject the truth with a strong disgust, surely it is 
dead against the high and pure duty we owe 
them, to saddle them with such a heavy and deep 
responsibility. And to take still loftier views of 
the charity and kindness needful towards our fel- 
low-beings — -when they hanker for a thing, as they 
do nearly always for a lie, and have set their 
hearts upon it, how selfish it must be, and inhu- 
man, not to let them have it ! Otherwise, like a 
female in a delicate condition, to what extent of 
injuiy may we not expose them ? Now sailors 
have a way of telling great facts of imagination 
in the most straightforwai'd and simple manner, 
being so convinced themselves that they care not 
a rope’s end who besides is convinced, and who 
is not. And to make other people believe, the 
way is not to want them to do it ; only the man 
must himself believe, and be above all reasoning. 

And I was beginning to believe more and more 
as I went on, and the importance of it grew clear- 
er, all about that ill-fated ship of which I had been 
thinking ever since the boat came in. Twelve 
years ago, as nearly as need be, and in the height 
of summer — namely, on the 3d of June, 1770 — a 
large ship, called the Planter's Welvard, bound 
from Surinam to the port of Amsterdam, had been 
lost and swallowed up near this very dangerous 
place. Three poor children of the planter (whose 
name was J S. Jackert), on their way home to 
be educated, had floated ashore, or at least their 
bodies, and are now in Newton Church-yard. 
The same must have been the fate of Bardie but 
for the accident of that boat. And though she 
was not a Dutchman’s child, so far as one could 
guess, from her wonderful power of English, and 
no sign of Dutch build about her, she might very 
well have been in a Dutch ship with her father 
and mother, and little brother and Susan, in the 
B 


best cabin. It was well known among us that 
Dutch vessels lay generally northward of their 
true course, and, from the likeness of the sound- 
ings, often came up the Bristol instead of the En- 
glish Channel ; and that this mistake (which the 
set of the stream would increase) generally proved 
fatal to them in the absence of any light-house. 

That some ship or other had been lost, was to 
my mind out of all dispute, although the w'eather 
had been so lovely ; but why it must have been a 
Dutch rather than an English ship, and why I 
need so very plainly have seen the whole of it 
myself (as by this time I began to believe that I 
had done), almost more than I can tell, except 
that I hoped it might be so, as giving me more 
thorough warrant in the possession of my prize. 
This boat, moreover, seemed to be of foreign 
build, so far as I could judge of it by moonlight : 
but of that hereafter. 

The wonder is that I could judge of any thing 
at all, I think, after the long and hard day’s work, 
for a man not so young as he used to be. And 
rocks are most confusing things to be among for 
a length of time, and away from one’s fellow- 
creatures, and nothing substantial on the stomach. 
They do so darken and jag and quiver, and hang 
over heavily, as a man w'anders under them with 
never a man to speak to ; and then the sands 
have such a Avay of shaking, and of shivering, and 
changing color beneath the foot, and shining in 
and out with patterns coming all astray to you ! 
When to these contrary vagaries you begin to add 
the loose unprincipled cuiwe of waves, and the up 
and down of light around you, and to and fro of 
sea-breezes, and startling noise of sea-fowl, and a 
world of other confusions, with roar of the deep 
confounding them — it becomes a bitter point to 
judge a man of what he saw, and what he thinks 
he must have seen. 

It is beneath me to go on with what might 
seem excuses. Enough that I felt myself in the 
right ; and what more can any man do, if you 
please, however perfect he may be ? Therefore I 
stowed away my boat (well earned both by mind 
and body) snugly enough to defy, for the present, 
even the sharp eyes of Sandy Macraw, under 
Newton Point, where no one ever went but myself. 
Some of my fish I put to freshen in a solid mass 
of bladder-w’eed, and some I took home for the 
morning, and a stroke of business after church. 
And if any man in the world deseiwed a down- 
right piece of good rest that night, with weary 
limbs and soft conscience, you will own it was 
Davy Llewellyn. 

Sunday morning I lay abed, with Bunny tug- 
ging very hard to get me up for breakfast, until 
it w'as almost eight o’clock, and my grandchild in 
a bitter strait of hunger for the things she smell- 
ed. After satisfying her, and scoring at the 

Jolly Sailors” three fine bass against my shot', 
what did I do but go to church with all my top- 
most togs on ! And that not from respect alone 
for the parson, who •was a customer, nor even that 
Colonel Lougher of Candleston Court might see 
me, and feel inclined to discharge me, as an ex- 
emplary Churchman (when next brought up be- 
fore him). These things weighed with me a lit- 
tle, it is useless to deny ; but my main desire was 
that the parish should see me there, and know 
that I was not abroad on a long-shore expedition, 
but was ready to hold up my head on a Sunday 
with the best of them, as I always had done. 


18 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


At one time, while I ate my breakfast, I had 
some idea, perhaps, that it would be more pious 
almost, and create a stronger belief in me, as well 
as ease my own penitence with more relief of 
gi’oaning, if I were to appear in the chapel of the 
Primitive Christians, after certain fish were gut- 
ted. But partly the fear of their singing noise 
(unsuitable to my head that morning after the 
hollands at Sker House), and partly my sense that, 
after all, it was but forecastle work there, while 
the church was quarter-deck, and most of all the 
circumstance that no magistrate ever went there, 
led me, on the whole, to give the preference to 
the old concern, supported so bravely by royalty. 
Accordingly, to church I went, and did a tidy 
stroke of business, both before and after service, 
in the way of lobsters. 

We made a beautiful dinner that day. Bunny 
and I, and mother Jones, who was good enough 
to join us ; and after slipping down to see how 
my boat lay for the tide, and finding her as right 
as could be, it came into my head that haply it 
would be a nice attention, as well as ease my 
mind upon some things that were running in it, 
if only I could pluck up spirit to defy the heat of 
the day, and challenge my own weariness by walk- 
ing over to Sker Manor. For of course the whole 
of Monday, and perhaps of Tuesday too, and even 
some part of Wednesday (with people not too 
particular), must be occupied in selling my great 
catch of Saturday ; so I resolved to go and see 
how the little visitor was getting on, and to talk 
with her. For though, in her weariness and wan- 
dering of the night before, she did not seem to 
remember much, as was natural at her tender age, 
who could tell what might have come to her mem- 
ory by this time, especially as she was so clever ? 
And it might be a somewhat awkward thing if 
the adventures which I felt really must have be- 
fallen her should happen to be contradicted by 
her own remembrance : for all I wanted w’as the 
truth ; and if her truths contradicted mine, )vhy, 
mine must be squared off to meet them ; for 
gi'eat is truth, and shall prevail. 

I thought it as well to take Bunny with me, for 
children have a remarkable knack of talking to 
one another, which they will not use to grown 
people ; also the walk across the sands is an ex- 
cellent thing for young legs, we say, being apt to 
crack the skin a little, and so enabling them to 
grow. A strong and hearty child was Bunny, 
fit to be rated A B almost, as behooved a fine 
sailor’s daughter. And as proud as you could 
wish to see, and never willing to give in ; so I 
promised myself some little sport in watching our 
Bunny’s weariness, as the sand grew deeper, and 
yet her pride, to the last, declaring that I should 
not caiTy her. 

But here I reckoned quite amiss, for the power 
of the heat was such — being the very hottest day 
I "ver knew out of the tropics, and the great ridge 
of sand-hills shutting us off from any sight of the 
water — that my little grandchild scarcely plodded 
a mile ere I had to cany her. And this was such 
a heav}' job among the deep dry mounds of sand, 
that for a time I repented much of the overcau- 
tion which had stopped me from using my beauti- 
ful new boat at once, to paddle dowm with the 
ebb to Sker, and come home gently afterwards 
with the flow of the tide towards evening. Nev- 
ertheless, as matters proved, it was wiser to risk 
the broiling. 


This heat was not of the sun alone (such as v/e 
get any summer’s day, and such as we had yes- 
terday), but thickened heat from the clouds them- 
selves, shedding it down like a burning-glass, and 
weltering all over us. It was, though I scai’cely 
knew it then, the summing-up and crowning pe- 
riod of whole weeks of heat and drought, and in- 
deed of the hottest summer known for at least a 
generation. And in the hollows of yellow sand, 
without a breath of air to stir, or a drop of moist- 
ure, or a firm place for the foot, but a red and 
fiery haze to go through, it was all a man could 
do to keep himself from staggering. 

Hence it was close upon three o’clock, by the 
place the sun was in, when Bunny and I came^in 
sight of Sker House, and hoped to find some wa- 
ter there. Beer, of course, I w’ould rather have ; 
but never was there a chance of that within reach 
of Evan Thomas. And I tried to think this all 
the better ; for half a gallon would not have gone 
any distance with me, after ploughing so long 
through sand, with the heavy weight of Bunny, 
upon a day like that. Only I hoped that my 
dear little grandchild might find something fit 
for her, and such as to set her up again ; for nev- 
er before had I seen her, high and strong as her 
spirit was, so overcome by the power and pressure 
of the air above us. She lay in my arms almost 
as helpless as little Bardie, three years younger, 
had lain the night before; and knowing how 
children wall go oif without a man’s expecting 
it, I was very uneasy, though aware of her con- 
stitution. So in the heat I chii*ped and whistled, 
though ready to drop myself almost ; and coming 
in sight of the house, I tried my best to set her 
up again, finding half of her clothes gone down 
her back, and a great part of her fat legs some- 
how sinking into her Sunday shoes. 

■» 

CHAPTER VIII. 

CHILDREN WHLL BE CHILDREN. 

The “boys of Sker,” as we always called those 
rough fellows over at Newton, w'ere rabbiting in 
the warren, according to their usual practice, on .a 
a Sunday afternoon — a loose, unseemly lot of 
lads, from fifteen up to two-and-twenty years c f ’ • 
age, perhaps, andveiy little to choose bct^t 
them as to w'ork and character. All, however,’ 
were known to be first-rate hands at any kind of 
sporting, or of poaching, or of any roving pleasure. 

Watkin, the sixth and youngest boy, was of a 
different natm*e. His brothers ahyays cast him 
off, and treated him with a high contempt, yet 
never could despise him. In their rough way, 
they could hardly help a sulky sort of love for 
him. 

The seventh and last child had been a girl — 
a sweet little creature as could be seen, and tak- 
ing after Watkin. But she had something on her 
throat from six months up to six years old ; and 
when she died, some three months back, people 
who had been in the house said that her mother 
would sooner have lost all the boys put together, 
if you left Watkin out of them. How that W'as 
I can not say, and prefer to avoid those subjects. 

But I know that poor Black Evan swore no oath 
worth speaking of for one great market and two 
small ones, but seemed brought down to sit by 
himself, drinking quietly aU day long. 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


19 







Wlien w’e came to the ancient hall (or kitchen 
as noAV they called it), for a moment I was vexed 
— expecting more of a rush, perhaps, than I was 
entitled to. Knowing how much that young child 
owed me for her preservation, and feeling how 
fond I was of her, what did I look for but wild 
delight at seeing ‘ ‘ Old Davy ” back again ? How- 
ever, it seems, she had taken up with another and 
forgotten me. 

Watkin, the youngest boy of Sker, was an in- 
nocent good little fellow, about twelve years old 
at that time. Bardie had found this out already ; 
as quickly as she found out my goodness, even 
by the moonlight. She had taken the lead upon 
Watkin, and was laying down the law to him, 
upon a question of deep importance, about the 
manner of dancing. 1 could dance a hornpipe 
with any body, and forward I came to listen. 

“No, no, no! I tell ’a. ’E mustn’t do like 
that, Yatkin. ’E must go yound and yound like 
this; and ’e must hold ’a cothes out, same as I 
does. Gardy la! ’E must hold ’a cothes out 
all the time, ’e must.” 

The little atom, all the time she delivered these 
injunctions, was holding out her tiny frock in the 
daintiest manner, and tripping sideways here and 
there, and turning round quite upon tiptoe, with 
her childish figure poised, and her chin thrown 
forward ; and then she would give a good hard 
jump, but all to the tune of the brass jew’s-harp 
which the boy was playing for his veiy life. And 
all the while she was doing this, the amount of 
energy and expression in her face v'as wonderful. 
You would have thought there was nothing else 
in all the world that required doing with such 
zeal and abandonment. Presently the boy stop- 
ped for a moment, and she came and took the 
knee of his trowsers, and put it to her pretty lips 
with the most ardent gratitude. 

“She must be a foreigner,” said I to myself: 
“ no British child could dance like that, and talk 
so ; and no British child ever shows gratitude.” 

As they had not espied us yet, where we stood 
in the passage-corner, I drew Bunny backward, 
and found her all of a tremble with eagerness to 
go and help. 

“More pay,” said little missy, with a coaxing 
look ; ‘ ‘ more pay, Yatkin ! ” 

.. .\'No,-'no. You must say ‘more play, please, 
^Watkin.’” 

“See voo pay, Yatkin; I ’ants — more pay!” 
The funny thing laughed at herself while saying 
it, as if with some comic inner sense of her own 
insatiability in the matter of play. 

“But how do you expect me to play the mu- 
sic,” asked Watkin, very reasonably, “ if I am to 
hold my clothes out all the time?” 

“Can’t ’a?” she replied, looking up at him 
with the deepest disappointment; “can’t ’a pay 
and dance too, Yatkin ? I thought ’a could do 
any thing. I ’ants to go to my dear mamma 
and papa and ickle brother.” 

Here she began to set up a very lamentable 
cry, and Watkin in vain tried to comfort her, 
till, hearing us, she broke from him. 

“Nare’s my dear mamma, nare’s my dear 
mamma coming!” she exclaimed, as she trotted 
full speed to the door. “Mamma! mamma! 
here I is. And ’e mustn’t scold poor Susan.” 

It is out of my power to describe how her little 
flushed countenance fell when she saw only me 
and Bunny. She drew back suddenly, with the 


brightness fading out of her eager eyes, and the 
tears that were in them began to roll, and her 
bits of hands went up to her forehead, as if she 
had lost herself, and the corners of her mouth 
came down; and then with a sob she turned 
away, and with quivering shoulders hid herself. 
I scarcely knew what to do for the best ; but our 
Bunny was very good to her, even better than 
could have been hoped, although she came of a 
kindly race. Without standing upon ceremony, 
as many children would have done, up she ran 
to the motherless stranger, and, kneeling down 
on the floor, contrived to make her turn and look 
at her. Then Bunny pulled out her new hand- 
kerchief, of which she was proud, I can tell you, 
being the first she had ever owned, made from 
the soundest comer of mother Jones’s old win- 
dow - blind, and only allowed with a Sunday 
frock; and although she had too much respect 
for this to wet*it with any thing herself, she nev- 
er for a moment grudged to wipe poor Bardie’s 
eyes with it. Nay, she even permitted her — 
which was much more for a child to do — to 
take it into her own two hands and rub away at 
her eyes with it. 

Gradually she coaxed her out of the cupboard 
of her refuge, and sitting in some posture known 
to none but women children, without a stool to 
help her, she got the little one on her lap, and 
stroked at her, and murmured to her, as if she 
had found a favorite doll in the depth of trouble. 
Upon the whole, I was so pleased that I vowed 
to myself I would give my Bunny the very bright- 
est half-penny I should earn upon the morrow. 

Meanwhile the baby of higher birth — as a glance 
was enough to show her — began to relax and 
come down a little, both from her dignity and 
her Avoe. She looked at Bunny Avith a gleam of 
humor, to Avhich her Avet eyes gave effect. 

“’E call that a ponky-hankerchy ? Does ’a 
call that a ponkey-hankerchy ?” 

Bunny Avas so overpoAvered by this, after all 
that she had done, and at the air of pity Avhere- 
Avith her proud ornament Avas flung on the floor, 
that she could only look at me as if I had cheated 
her about it. And truly I had seen no need to 
tell her about Mother J ones and her blind. Then 
these little ones got up, having sense of a natural 
discordance of rank between them, and Bunny 
no longer wiped the eyes of Bardie, nor Bardie 
wept in the arms of Bunny. They put their lit- 
tle hands behind them, and stood apart to think 
a bit, and watched each other shyly. To see 
them move their mouths and fingers, and peep 
from the corners of their eyes, Avas as good as al- 
most any play Avithout a hornpipe in it. It made 
no difference, hoAvever. Very soon they came 
to settle it betAveen them. The low-born Bunny 
looked doAvn upon Bardy for being so much small- 
er, and the high-born Bardie looked down upon 
Bunny for being so much coarser. But nei^^r 
Avas able to tell the other at all Avhat her opinion 
was; and so, Avithout any farther trouble, they 
became very excellent playmates. 

Doing my best to make them friends, I seized 
the little stranger, and gave her several good 
tosses-up, as well as tickles betAveen them ; and 
this Avas more than she could resist, being, as her 
nature shoAVS, thoroughly fond of any kind of 
pleasure and amusement. She laughed, and she 
flung out her arms, and every time she made 
such jumps as to go up like a feather. Pretty 


20 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


soon I saw, however, that this had gone on too 
long for Bunny. She put her poor handkerchief 
out of sight, and then some fingers into her 
mouth, and she looked as black as a dog in a 
kennel. But Bardie showed good-nature now, 
for she ran up to Bunny, and took her hand and 
led her to me, and said very nicely, “Give this 
ickle gal some. Old Davy. She haven’t had no 
pay at all. Oh, hot boofley buckens oo’s got! 
Jolly, jolly ! Keel song grand I” 

This admiration of my buttons — which truly 
were very handsome, being on my regulation- 
coat, and as good as gilt almost, with “Mino- 
taur ” (a kind of grampus, as they say) done round 
them — this appreciation of the navy made me 
more and more perceive what a dear child was 
come ashore to us, and that we ought to look 
alive to make something out of her. If she had 
any friends remaining (and they could scarcely 
have all been drowned), being, as she clearly was, 
of a high and therefore rich family, it might be 
worth ten times as much as even my boat had 
been to me, to keep her safe and restore her in a 
fat state when demanded. With that I made up 
my mind to take her home with me that very 
night, especially as Bunny seemed to have set up 
a wonderful fancy to her. But man sees single, 
God sees double, as our saying is, and her bits of 
French made me afraid that she might, after all, 
be a beggar. 

“Now go and play, like two little dears, and. 
remember whose day it is,” I said to them both, 
for I felt the duty of keeping my grandchild up 
to the mark on all religious questions; “and be 
sure you don’t go near the well, nor out of sight 
of the house at all, nor pull the tads of the chick- 
ens out, nor throw stones at the piggy-wiggy,” 
for I knew what Bunny’s tricks were. “And 
now, Watty, my boy, come and talk to me, and 
perhaps I will give you a juneating apple from 
my own tree under the device.” 

Although the heat was tremendous now (even 
inside those three-feet walls), the little things did 
as I bade them. And I made the most of this oc- 
casion to have a talk with Watkin, who told me 
every thing he knew. His mother had not been 
down since dinner, which they always got any- 
how ; because his father, who had been poorly for 
some days, and feverish, and forced to lie in bed 
a little, came to the top of the stairs and called, 
requiring some attendance. What this meant I 
knew as well as if I had seen Black Evan there, 
parched with thirst and with great eyes rolling af- 
ter helpless drunkenness, and roaring, with his 
night-clothes on, for a quart of fresh-drawn ale. 

But about the shipwrecked child Watty knew 
scarce any thing. He had found her in his bed 
that moniing — Moxy, no doubt, having been hard 
pushed (with her husband in that state) what to 
do. And knowing how kind young Watty was, 
she had quartered the baby upon him. But Wat- 
kin, though gifted with pretty good English (or 
“ Sassenach,” as we call it) beyond all the rest 
of his family, could not follow the little creature 
in her manner of talking; which indeed, as I 
found thereafter, nobody in the parish could do 
except myself and an Englishwoman whose word 
was not worth taking. 

“ Indeed and indeed then, IMr. Llewellyn,” he 
went on in English, having an evident desire to 
improve himself by discourse with me, “I did 
tr}', and I did try ; and my mother, she try too. 


Times and times, for sure we tried. But no use 
was the whole of it. She only shakes her head, 
and thinks with all her might, as you may say. 
And then she says, ‘No! I’se not hot you says. 
I’se two years old, and I’se Bardie. And my 
papa he be very angry if ’e goes on so with me. 
My mamma yoves me, and I yove her, and papa, 
and ickle brother, and every body. But not the 
naughty bad man, I doesn’t.’ That isn’t true 
English now, I don’t think ; is it then, Mr. Llew'- 
ellyn ?” 

“Certainly not,” I answ^ered, seeing that my 
character for good English was at stake. 

“And mother say she know well enough the 
baby must be a foreigner. On her dress it is to 
sho\v it. No name, as the Christians put, but 
marks without any meaning. And French leath- 
er in her shoes, and fallals on her under-clothes. 
Rich people mother do say they must be; but 
dead by this time, she make no cloubt.” 

“ Boy,” I replied, “your mother, I fear, is right 
in that particular. To me it is a subject of anx- 
iety and sorrow. And I know, perhaps, more 
about it than any one else can pretend to do.” 

The boy looked .at me with wonder and eager- 
ness about it. But I gave him a look, as much 
as to say, “Ask no more at present.” How'ever, 
he was so full of her that he could not keep from 
talking. 

“We asked wdio the naughty bad man was, 
but she was afraid at that, and w'ent all round 
the room with her eyes, and hid under mother’s 
apron. And dreadful she cried at breakfast 
about her mamma and her own spoon. To my 
heart I feel the pain when she does cry ; I know 
I do. And then of a sudden she is laughing, and 
no reason for it ! I never did see such a baby 
before. Do you think so, Mr. Llew'ellyn ?” 

CHAPTER IX. 

SAND-HILLS TURNED TO SAND-HOLES. 

While I w^as talking thus with the boy, and 
expecting his mother every minute (with hope of 
a little refreshment when the farmer should have 
dropped off into his usual Sunday sleep), a very 
strange thing began more and more to force itself 
on my attention. I have said that the hall of 
this desolate house was large and long, and had 
six door-w'ays — narrow arches of heavy stone, 
without a door to any of them. Three of these 
arches were at the west and three at the east end 
of the room, and on the south were two old win- 
dows, each in a separate gable, high up from the 
floor, and dark with stone-work and with lead- 
w'ork ; and in the calmest weather these would 
draw the air and make a rattle. At the north 
side of the hall W'as nothing but dead wall, and 
fire-place, and cupboards, and the broad oak stair- 
case. Having used the freedom to light a pipe, 
I sat with my face to the chimney corner, where 
some wood-ashes were smouldering, after the din- 
ner W'as done with ; and sitting thus, I became 
aware of a presence of some sort over my right 
shoulder. At first I thought it was nothing 
more than the smoke from my own pipe, for I 
puffed rather hard, in anxiety about that little 
darling. But seeing sui-prise, and alarm perhaps, 
in Watkin’s face, who sat opposite, I turned 
round, and there beheld three distinct and several 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


21 


pillars of a brownish-yellow light standing over 
against the dooiMvays of the western end. 

At first I was a little scared, and the more so 
because the rest of the hall was darkening ■with 
a pulse of color gradually vanishing ; and for an 
instant I really thought that the ghosts of the 
T wrecked child’s father and mother, and perhaps 
her nurse, were come to declare the truth about 
her, and challenge me for my hesitation. But 
presently I called to mind how many strange 
things had befallen me, both at sea and on the 
coast, in the way of feeling and vision too, de- 
signed, however, by the Bower that sends them, 
more to forewarn than frighten us, and, as we 
get used to them, to amuse or edify. 

Therefore I plucked my spirit up and approach- 
ed this odd appearance, and found that no part of 
it was visible upon the spot where it seemed to 
stand. But Watkin, who was much emboldened 
by my dauntless carriage, called out in Welsh 
that he could see me walking in and out of them, 
like so many hay-stacks. Upon this I took yet 
farther courage, having a witness so close at hand, 
and nothing seeming to hurt me. So what did 
I do but go outside, without any motion of run- 
ning away but to face the thing to its utmost ; 
and Watkin, keeping along the wall, took good 
care to come after me. 

Here I discovered in half a second that I had 
been wise as well as strong in meeting the mat- 
ter valiantly ; for what we had seen Avas but the 
glancing — or reflection, as they call it now — of 
what was being done outside. In a word, the 
thick and .stifling heat of the day (which had 
gathered to a head the glaring and blazing power 
of the last tw^o months of hot summer) was just 
beginning to burst abroad in whirlwind, hail, and 
thunder. All the upper heaven Avas coA-ered with 
a spread of burning yelloAv ; all the half-way sky 
Avas red as blood Avith fibres under it, and all the 
sides and margin looked as black as the new-tar- 
red bends of a ship. But Avhat threAv me most 
astray was, that the Avhole Avas Avhirling, tossing 
upAvard jerks of darkness, as a juggler flings his 
balls, yet at one time spinning round, and at the 
same time scoAvding doAvn. 

“It is a hurricane,” said I, haA’ing seen some 
in the West Indies Avhich began like this. Wat- 
kin kneAV not much of my meaning, but caught 
hold of my coat, and stood. And in truth it Avas 
enough to make not only a slip of a boy, but a 
veteran sailor, stand and fear. 

Not a flash of lightning yet broke the expecta- 
tion of it, nor had been a drop of rain. But to 
my surprise, and shoAving hoAV little Ave knoAv of 
any thing, over the high land broke a sand-storm 
such as they have in Africa. It had been breAV- 
ing some time, most likely, in the KenfigbuiTOAvs, 
tOAvards the AvestAvard and the Avindward, although 
no Avind Avas astir Avith us. I thought of a dance 
of Avater-spouts, such as aa'C had tAvice encounter- 
ed in the royal naA-y ; once, I knoAv, Avas after 
clearing the mouth of the Strait of Malaccas; 
Avhere the other Avas I truly forget, having had 
so much to go everyAvhere. But this time the 
Avhirling stuft' Avas neither Avater, nor smoke, nor 
cloud ; but sand, as plain as could be. It Avas 
just like the parson’s hour-glass — only going up, 
not coming doAvn, and quickly instead of sloAvly. 
And of these funnels, spinning around, and com- 
ing near and nearer, there may haA’e been per- 
haps a dozen, or there may have been threescore. 1 


They differed very much in size, according to the 
breadth of AA'hirlwind, and the stuff it fed upon, and 
the hole in the air it bored ; but all alike had a 
tawny color, and a manner of bulking upAvard, 
and a loose uncertain edge, often lashing off in 
frays ; and betAveen them black clouds galloped ; 
and sometimes two fell into one, and bodily broke 
doAvnAvard ; then a pile (as big as NeAVton Rock) 
rose in a moment any hoAV. Hill or valley made 
no odds ; sand-hill, or sand-bottom ; the sand AA'^as 
in the place of the air, and the air itself Avas sand. 

Many people have asked me, over and over 
again (because such a thing Avas scarcely knoAvn, 
except at the great storm of sand four hundred 
years ago, they say) — our people ever so many 
times, assert their privilege to ask me (noAv again 
especially) hoAv many of these pillars there Avere! 
I Avish to tell the truth exactly, having no inter- 
est in the matter — and if I had, no other matter 
AA'Ould it be to me ; and after going into my mem- 
017 deeper than ever I could have expected there 
AA'ould be occasion for, all I can say is this — legion 
Avas their number ; because they Avere all coming 
doAvn upon me ; and hoAV could I stop to count 
them? 

Watkin lost his mind a little, and asked me 
(Avith his head gone under my regulation-coat) 
if I thought it Avas the judgment-day. 

To this question I “replied distinctly in the 
negatiA'C ” (as the man of the paper Avrote, when I 
said “ no ” about poaching) ; and then I cheered 
young Watkin up, and told him that nothing 
more AA^as AA’anted than to keep a Aveather-hehn. 

Before his Avit could ansAver helm so much as 
to clear my meaning, the storm Avas on me, and 
broke my pipe, and filled my lungs and all my 
pockets, and spoiled every corner of the hat I 
had bought for my dear Avife’s funeral. I pulled 
back instantly (almost as quickly as boy Watkin 
could), and we heard the sand burst OA^er the 
house, Avith a rattle like shot and a roar Hke can- 
non. And being AveU inside the AA'alls, we fixed 
our eyes on one another, in the gloom and murk- 
iness, as much as Ave could do for coughing, to 
be sure of something. 

“Where is Bardie gone?” I asked, as soon 
as my lungs gave speech to me : it should haA'.e 
been, “Where is Bunny gone?” But my head 
AA’as full of the little one. 

“Who can tell?” cried the boy, in Welsh, be- 
ing thoroughly scared of his English. “Oh, 
Dyo dear, God the great only knoAA's.” 

“God Avill guard her,” I said softly, yet Avith- 
out pure faith in it, haA'ing seen such cruel things ; 
but the boy’s face moved me. MoreoA'er, Bardie 
seemed almost too full of life for quenching ; and 
having escaped rocks, AA^aves, and quicksands, 
surely she could ncA’er be Avrecked upon dry land 
ignobly. Nevertheless, at the mere idea of those 
helpless little ones out in all this raging havoc, 
tears came to my eyes, until the sand, of Avhich 
the very house \A'as full, crusted up and blinded 
them. 

It was time to leave off thinking, if one meant 
to do any good. The AA-hirhA'inds spun and Avhis- 
tled round us, now on this side and noAV on that ; 
and the old house creaked and rattled as the 
AA'eather pulled or pushed at it. The sand Avas 
drifted in the court-yard (Avithout any special 
Avhirlwind) three feet deep in the north-east cor- 
ner; and the sky, from all sides, fell upon us, 
like a mountain undermined. 


22 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


“Boy, go in to your mother,” I said; and I 
thank God for enabling me, else might she have 
been childless. “ Tell your mother not to be 
frightened, but to get your father up, and to have 
the kettle boiling.” 

“ Oh, Dyo — dear Dyo ! let me come with you, 

. after that poor little child, and after my five 
brothers.” 

“Go in, you helpless fool!” I said; and he 
saw the set of my countenance, and left me, 
though but half content. 

It needed all my strength to draw the door of 
tlie house behind me, although the wind was 
bent no more on one way than another, but uni- 
versal uproar. And down-roar too ; for it fell 
on my head quite as much as it jerked my legs, 
and took me aback, and took me in front, and 
spun me round, and laughed at me. Then of a 
sudden all wind dropped, and yellotv sky w’as 
over me. 

What course to take (if I had the choice) in 
search of those poor children, was more at first 
than I could judge, or bring my mind to bear 
upon. For as sure as we live by the breath of 
the Lord, the blast of his anger deadens us. 

Perhaps it "was my instinct only, having been 
so long afloat, w'hich drove me, straight as affairs 
permitted, towards the margin of the sea. And 
perhaps I had some desire to know how' the sea 
itself would look under this strange visiting. 
Moreover, it may have come across me, without 
any thinking twice of it, that Bunny had an in- 
born trick of always running towards the sea, as 
behooved a sailor’s daughter. 

Anyhow, that way I took so far as it was left 
to me to know the points of the compass, or the 
shape and manner of any thing. For simple and 
short as the right road was, no simpleton or short- 
witted man could have hit it, or come near it, in 
that ravenous w’eather. In the w’hirl and grim 
distortion of the air and the very earth, a man 
was walking (as you might say) in the depth of 
a perfect calm, with stifling heat upon him, and 
a piece of shadow to know himself by ; and then, 
the next moment, there he Avas in a furious state 
of buffeting, baffled in front, and belabored aback, 
and bellowed at under the swing of his arms, and 
the staggering failure of his poor legs. 

Nevertheless, in the lull and the slack times, I 
did my utmost to get on, having more presence 
of mind, perhaps, tlian any landsman could have 
OAVTied. Poor fellows they are when it comes to 
blow ; and Avhat could they do in a whirlwind ? 

As I began to think of them, and my luck in 
being a seaman, my courage improved to that 
degree that I w'as able quite heartily to commend 
myself to the power of God, Avhom, as a rule, I 
remember best Avhen the Avorld seems coming to 
an end. And I think it almost certain that this 
piety on my part enabled me to get on as I did. 

For Avithout any skill at all or braA^ery of mine,' 
but only the calmness which fell upon me, as it 
used to do in the heat of battle, Avhen I thought 
on my Maker, all at once I saAv a way to elude a 
great deal of the danger. This was as simple as 
could be, yet never Avould have come home to a 
man unable to keep his Avits about him. 

Blurred and slurred as the whole sky Avas Avith 
tAvisted stuff and Avith yellowness, I saw that the 
whirling pillars of sand not only Avhirled but also 
travelled in one spiral only. They all came from 
the Avest, where lay the largest spread of sand- 


hills, and they danced away to the north-east first, 
and then aAvay to south of east, shaping a round 
like a ship Avith her helm up, preserving their 
spiral from left to right, as all Avater-spouts do on 
the north of the Line. 

So when a column of sand came nigh to suck 
me up, or to bury me — although it Avent thirty 
miles an hour, and I with the utmost scare of my 
life could not have managed ten, perhaps — by 
porting my helm, Avithout canying sail, and so 
Avorking a traverse, I kept the weather-gage of 
it, and that made all the ^fference. 

Of course I AA^as stung in the face and neck as 
bad as a thousand mosquitoes Avhen the skirts of 
the whirl flapped round at me, but what was that 
to care about? It gave me pleasure to Avalk 
in such peril, and feel myself almost out of it by 
virtue of coolness and readiness. NeA’ertheless, 
it gave me far greater pleasure, I can assure you, 
to feel hard gi'ound beneath my feet, and stagger 
along the solid pebbles of the beach of Sker, where 
the sand-storm could not come so much. 

Hereupon I do believe that, in spite of all my 
courage — so stout and strong in the moment of 
trial — all my power fell away before the sense of 
safety. What could my old battered life matter 
to any one in the world, except myself and Bun- 
ny? HoAA'CA'er, I was so truly thankful to kind 
ProAudence for preserving it, that I can not haA'e 
gh^en less than nine jumps, and said, “ MattheAv, 
Mark, Luke, and John,” three times OA'er, and in 
both Avays. 

This brought me back to the world again, as 
any poAver of piety ahvays does when I dAvell 
therein, and it droA'e me thereupon to trust in 
ProA’idence no longer than the time Avas needful 
for me to recover breathing. 

When I came to my breath and prudence, such 
a fright at first oppressed me, that I made a start 
for running into the foremost of the waves, think- 
ing (if I thought at all) of lying doAvn there, Avith 
my head kept up, and defying the sand to quench 
the sea. 

Soon, however, I perceived that this was not 
advisable. Such a roar arose around me from 
the bloAvs of hills and rocks, and the fretful ea- 
gerness of the sea to be at Avar again, and the 
deep sound of the distance — the A'oice of man 
could travel less than that of a sandpiper, and 
the foot of man might long to be the foot of a 
sand-hopper. For the sea AA'as rising fast up the 
verge of groundsAA'ell, and a deep hoarse echo 
rolling doAvn the shoaling of the surges. This to 
me Avas pleasant music, such as . makes a man 
aAA’ake. 

The color of the sun and sky was just as I had 
once beholden near the pearl-grounds of Ceylon, 
Avhere the bottom of the sea comes up Avith a very 
mournful noise, and the fish sing dirges, and no 
man, hoAvever clear of eye, can open the sea and 
the sky asunder. And by this time being able to 
look round a little — for the air AA^as not so full of 
sand, though still very thick and dusty — I kncAv 
that Ave were on the brink of a kind of tornado, 
as they call it in the tropics — a storm that A'ery 
seldom comes into these northern latitudes, being 
raised by violence of heat, as I have heard a sur- 
veyor say, the air going upAvard rapidly, Avith a 
great hole left beloAv it. 

Noav as I stood on watch, as it were, and, be- 
ing in such a situation, longed for more tobacco, 
Avhat came to pass Avas exactly this — so far as a 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


23 


man can be exact when his wits have long been 
failing him. 

The heaven opened, or rather seemed to be 
cloven by a sword-sweep, and a solid mass of 
lightning fell, Avith a cone like a red-hot anvil. 
The ring of black rocks received its Aveight, and 
leaped like a boiling caldron, Avhile the stormy 
Avaters rose into a hiss and heap of steam. Then 
the crash of heaven stunned me. 

When I came to myself it Avas raining as if it 
had never rained before. The rage of sand and j 
air Avas beaten flat beneath the rain, and the fret- 
ful lifting of the sea aa'us hushed off into bubbles. 
What to do I could not tell, in spite of all expe- 
rience, but rubbed the sand from both my eyes, 
as bad as the beard of an oyster, and could see no 
clear Avay anywhere. 

Noav the sky Avas spread and traversed Avith a 
net of crossing fires, in and out like mesh and 
needle, only Avithout time to look. Some AV'ere 
yelloAV, some deep red, and some like banks of 
violet, and others of a pale SAveet blue, like gaz- 
ing through a AvindoAv. They might have been 
very beautiful, and agreeable to consider, if they 
had been farther off, and without that Avicked 
crack of thunder through the roar. Worse stonns 
I had seen, of course, in the hot Avorld and up 
mountains, and perhaps thought little of them; 
but then there Avas this difference — I had ahvays 
plenty of felloAvs Avith me, and it Avas not Sun- 
day. Also, I then AA^as young, and trained for 
cannons to be shot at me. Neither had I a boat 
of my own, but my dear wife Avas alive. 

These considerations moved me to be careful 
of my life — a duty Avhich increases on us after the 
turn of the balance ; and, seeing all things black 
behind me, and a Avorld of storm around, knoAv- 
ing every hole as I did, Avith many commenda- 
tions of myself to God for the sake of Bunny, in 
I Avent into a hole under a good solid rock, Avhere 
I could Avatch the sea, and care for nothing but 
an earthquake. 

■ ■■■ «» 

CHAPTER X. 

UNDER THE ROCK. 

For a AA'hile the poAver of the lightning seemed 
to quench the Avind almost, and one continuous 
roar of thunder rang around the darkness. Then, 
Avith a bellow, the Avind sprang forth (like a Avild 
bull out of a mountain), and shattered the rain 
and droAvned the thunder, and Avas lord of every 
thing. Under its Aveight the flat sea quivered, 
and the crests fleAV into foam, and the scourge . 
upon the waters seemed to beat them all together, j 
The Avhirlwinds now Avere past and done with, I 
and a violent gale begun, and in the burst and 
clmnge of movement there appeared a helpless 
ship. 

She Avas bearing toAA^ards Pool Tavan, as poor ! 
Bardie’s boat had done, but Avithout the summer 
glory and the golden Avealth of Avaves. All Avas j 
smooth and soft and gentle, as the moonlight in I 
a glass, Avhen the little boat came gliding Avith its j 
baby captain. All was rough and hard and fu- | 
rious as a fight of devils, Avhen that ship came J 
staggering Avith its load of sin and Avoe. And j 
yet there had not been so much as twenty-four , 
hours betAveen the Iaa’o. i 

Not one of our little coasting A’essels, but a full- 
rigged ship she loomed, of foreign build, although 


at present carrying no colors. I saAV at once Avhat 
her business was — to bring from the West Indies 
sugar, rum, and such-like freight, to Bristol^ or 
to the Dutchmen. This was in her clearance- 
bill ; but behind that she had other import not so 
clearly entered. In a Avord, she carried negroes 
from the overstocked plantations, not to be quite 
slaves (at least in the opinion of their masters), 
but to be distributed, for their oAvn Christian ben- 
efit, at a certain sum per head, among the Bris- 
tol or Dutch merchants, or AvhereA’er it might be. 
And it serA’es them right, I always say ; for the 
fuss that we noAv make about those black men 
must bring doAvn the anger of the Creator, who 
made them black, upon us. 

As the gale set to its Avork, and the sea arose 
in earnest, and the lightning drifted off into the 
scud of clouds, I saAv, as plain as a pike-staff, that 
the ship must come ashore, and go to pieces very 
likely, before one could say “Jack Robinson.” 
She had been on the Sker-Aveather sands already', 
and lost her rudder and some of her stem-post, as 
the lift of the Avater shoAved ; and now there Avas 
nothing left on board her of courage or common 
seamanship. The truth of it aa'us, although of 
course I could not knoAv it then, that nearly all 
the ship’s company acted as Avas to be expected 
from a lot of foreigners — that is to say, if such 
they Avere. They took to the boats in a kind of 
panic Avhen first she struck among the sands in 
the Avhirhvind Avhich began the storm. There 
could haA'e been then no great sea running, only 
quiet rollers; and being but tAvo miles off the 
shore, they hoped, no doubt, to land Avell enough, 
after leaving the stupid negroes and the helpless 
passengers to the Avill of Providence. 

HoAvever, before they had roAved a mile, Avith 
the flood-tide making eastward, one of the boats 
AA’as struck by lightning, and the other caught in 
a Avhirl vorago (as the Spaniards call it), and not 
a soul CA'er came to land, and scarcely any bodies. 
Both these accidents Avere seen from PorthcaAA’l 
Point by Sandy MacraAV through a telescope; 
and much as he AA'as mine enemy, I do him the 
justice to believe it; partly because he could 
look for no money from any lies in the matter, 
and still more because I haA'e heard that some 
people said that they saAV him see it. 

But to come back to this poor ship ; the AA’ind, 
though bloAving madly enough (as a summer gale 
is often hotter for a Avhile than a Avinter one), had 
not time and SAveep as yet to raise any very big 
rollers. The sea AA'as sometimes beaten fiat and 
then cast up in hillocks ; but the mighty march 
of Avaters fetched by a tempest from the Atlantic 
Avas not come, and would not come, in a veenng 
storm like this. For it takes a gale of at least 
three tides, such as Ave never haA'e in summer, to 
deliver the true buffet of the vast Atlantic. 

Nevertheless, the sea AA'as nasty and exceeding 
vicious ; and the Avind more madly Avild, perhaps, 
than Avhen it has fuU time to bloAV ; in short, the 
Avant of depth and poAver Avas made up by rage 
and spite. And for a ship not thoroughly sound 
and staunch in all her timbers, it had been better, 
perhaps, to jise and fall upon long billoAvs, Avith 
a chance of casting high and dry, than to be 
tAvirled round and plucked at, thrown on beam- 
ends, and taken aback, as this hapless craft aa'us 
being, in the lash of rocky Avaters and the drift 
of gale and scud. 

By this time she Avas close ashore, and not a 


24 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


man (except myself) to help or even pity her. 
All around her was wind and rocks, and a mad 
sea rushing under her. The negroes, crouching 
in the scuppers, or clinging to the masts and 
rails, or rolling over one another in their want 
of pluck and skill, seemed to shed their blackness 
on the snowy spray and curdled foam, like cuttle- 
fish in a lump of froth. Poor things ! they are 
grieved to die as much, perhaps, as any white 
man ; and my heart was overcome, in spite of 
all I know of them. 

The ship had no canvas left, except some tat- 
ters of the foretop-sail, and a piece of the main- 
royals ; but she drifted broadside on, I dare say, 
five or six knots an hour. She drew too much 
water, unluckily, to come into Pool Tavan at that 
time of the tide, even if the mouth had been wide 
enough ; but crash she went on a ledge of rocks 
thoroughly well known to me, every shelf of 
which was a razor. Half a cable’s length below 
the entrance to Pool Tavan, it had the finest 
steps and stairs for congers and for lobsters, 
whenever one could get at it in a low spring- 
tide ; but the worst of beaks and barbs for a ves- 
sel to stiifee upon at half-flow, and with a violent 
sea, and a wind as wild as Bedlam. 

With the pressure of these, she lay so much to 
leeward before striking (and perhaps her cargo 
had shifted), that the poor blackies rolled down 
the deck like pickling walnuts on a tray; and 
they had not even the chance of dying each in 
his own direction. I was forced to shut my 
eyes ; till a gray squall came, and caught her up, 
as if she had been a humming-top, and flung lier 
(as we drown a kitten) into the mashing Avaters. 

Now I hope no man who knows me Avould ever 
take me for such a fool as to dream for a moment 
— after all I have seen of them — that a negro is 
“our OAvn flesh and blood, and a brother immor- 
tal,” as the parsons begin to prate, under some 
dark infection. They differ from us a great deal 
more than an ass does from a horse ; but for all 
that, I was right down glad — as a man of loving- 
kindness — that such a pelt of rain came up as 
saved me from the discomfort — or pain, if you 
must haA^e the truth — of beholding several score, 
no doubt, of unfortunate blacks a-droAvning. 

If^ had pleasec^. Providence to droAvn any 
white man Avith them, and to let me know it, be- 
yond a doubt I had rushed in, though Avithout so 
much as a rope to help me ; and as it Avas, I Avas 
ready to do my A’ery best to save them if they 
had only shown some readiness to be hauled 
ashore by a man of proper color. But being, as 
negroes ahvays are, of a most contrary nature) 
no doubt they preferred to drift out to sea rath- 
er than Christian burial. At any rate, none of 
them came near me, kindly disposed as I felt 
myself, and ready to tuck up my Sunday troAv- 
sers at the very first sight of a Avoolly head. 
But scA'eral came ashore next tide — Avhen it 
could be no comfort at all to them. And such, 
as I have always found, is the nature of black 
people. 

But for me it Avas a sad, and, as I thought, se- 
A’ere, Ausitation to be forced on a Sabbath-day — 
my only holiday of the Aveek — to meditate over 
a scene like this. As a truly consistent and 
truth-seeking Christian (especially Avhen I go 
round Avith fish on a Monday among Non-con- 
formists), it was a bitter trial for me to reflect 
upon those poor negroes, gone Avithout any sense 


at all, except of good Christians’ wickedness, to 
the judgment Ave decree for all, except ourselves 
and families. 

But there Avas Avorse than this behind ; for af- 
ter Availing as long as there seemed good chance 
of any thing coming ashore, which might go into 
my pocket, Avithout risk of my pension, and Avould 
truly be mine in all honesty — and after seeing that 
the Avreck Avould not break up till the tide rose 
higher, though all on board Avere SAvept away — 
suddenly it came into my head about poor Bar- 
die and Bunny. They Avere Avorth all the nig- 
gers that ever made coal look the color of pipe- 
clay ; and Avith a depth of self-reproach Avhich I 
never deseiwed to feel, haAung truly done my ut- 
most — for Avho could Avalk in such Aveather? — 
forth I set, resolA’’ed to face Avhatever came out 
of the heavens. Verily nothing could come 
much worse than Avhat Avas come already. 
Rheumatics, I mean, Avhich had struck me there, 
under the rock, as a snake might. Three hours 
ago all the Avorld Avas sweat, and noAV all the 
air Avas shivers. Such is the climate of our 
parts, and many good people rail at it, Avho have 
not been under discipline. But all Avho have felt 
that gnaAA'ing anguish, or that fiery freezing, burn- 
ing at once and benumbing (like a dead bone put 
into the live ones, Avith a train of powder doAvn 
it) — all these will haA’^e pity for a man Avho had 
crouched beneath a rock for at least three hours, 
with dripping clothes, at the age of two-and-fifty. 

For a hero I never set up to be, and never 
came across one until my old age in the navy, 
as hereafter to be related. And though I had 
served on board of one in my early year^ off La 
Hague and Cape Grisnez, they told me she Avas 
only a Avoman that used to hold a lantern. 
Hero, hoAvever, or no hero, in spite of all dis- 
couragement and the aching of my bones, re- 
solved I Avas to folloAv out the fate of those two 
children. There seemed to be faint hope, in- 
deed, concerning the little stranger ; but Bunny 
might be all alive and strong, as Avas right and 
natural for a child of her age and substance. 
But-'I was sore doAvncast about it Avhen I looked 
around and saAV the effect of the storm that had 
been over them. For the alteration of CA'ery 
thing Avas nothing less than amazing. 

It is out of my power to tell you Iioav my heart 
went up to God, and all my spiidt and soul Avas 
lifted into something purer, Avhen of a sudden, in 
a scoop of sand, Avith the rushes overhanging, I 
came on those tAvo little dears, fast asleep in in- 
nocence. A perfect nest of peace they had, as if 
beneath their Father’s eye, and by His OAvn hand 
made for them. The fury of the earth and sky 
Avas all around and over them ; the deep revenge 
of the sea Avas rolling not a hundred yards aAvay ; 
and here those tAvo little dots Avere asleep, Avith 
their angels trying to make them dream. 

Bunny, being the elder and much the stronger 
child, had throAvn the skiit of her frock across 
poor little Bardie’s naked shoulders ; Avhile Bar- 
die, finding it nice and Avarm, had nestled her 
delicate head into the lap of her young nurse, and 
had tried (as it seeme^), before dropping off, to 
tell her gratitude by pressing Bunny’s red hands 
to her lips. In a Avord, you might go a long AA’ay 
and scarcely see a prettier or more moving pic- 
ture, or more apt to lead a man Avho seldom thinks 
of Ills Maker. As for me, I became so proud of 
my own granddaughter’s goodness, and of the 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


25 


little lady’s trust and pure repose therein, that my 
heart went back at once to my dead boy Harry, 
and I do believe that I must have wept, if I could 
have stopped to look at them. 

But although I was truly loath to spoil this 
pretty picture, the poor things must be partly wet, 
even in that nest of rushes, which the whirlwinds 
had not touched. So I awoke them very gently, 
and shook off the sand, while they rubbed their 
eyes, and gaped, and knew no more of their dan- 
ger than if they had been in their own dear beds. 
Then, with Bardie in my anns, and Bunny trot- 
ting stoutly with her thumb spliced into my trow- 
sers, I shaped course for Sker fann-house, having 
a strong gale still abaft, but the weather slightly 
moderating. 


CHAPTER XI. 

A WRECKER WRECKED. 

Near the gate I met Evan Thomas, the mas- 
ter of the house himself, at length astir, but still 
three parts drunk, and — if I may say so w'ith due 
compassion for the trouble then before him — in a 
very awkward state of mind. It happened so that 
the surliness of his liquor and of his nature min- 
gled at this moment with a certain exultation, a 
sense of good luck, and a strong desire to talk and 
be told again of it. And this is the nature of all 
Welshmen ; directly they have any luck, they 
must begin to brag of it. You will find the same 
in me perhaps, or, at any rate, think you do, al- 
though I try to exclude it, having to deal with 
Englishmen, who make nothing of all the great 
deeds they have done until you begin to agree 
with them. And then, my goodness, they do 
come out! But the object of my writing is to 
make them understand us, which they never yet 
have done, being unlike somehow in nature, al- 
though w'e are much of their fathers. 

Having been almost equally among both these 
nations, and speaking English better, perhaps, 
than my native tongue of the Cwmri — of which 
any body can judge who sees the manner in which 
I do it — it is against my wish to say what Evan 
Thomas looked like. His dark face overhung 
with hair, and slouched with a night of drinking, 
was beginning to bum up, from paleness and from 
weariness, into a fuiy of plunder. Scarcely did 
I know the man, although I had so many recol- 
lections of evil against him. A big, strong, clum- 
sy fellow at all times, far more ready to smite 
than smile, and wholly void of that pleasant hu- 
mor which, among almost all my neighbors — 
though never yet could I find out why — creates 
a pleasing eagerness for my humble society as 
punctual as my pension-day. 

But noAv his reeling, staggering manner of 
coming along towards us, and the hunching of his 
shoulders, and the swaggering of his head, and, 
most of all, the great gun he carried, were enough 
to make good quiet people who had been to 
church get behind a sand-hill. However, for that 
it was too late. I was bound to face him. Bar- 
die dropped her eyes under my beard, and Bunny 
crept closer behind my leg. For my part, al- 
though the way was naiTOw, and the lift of the 
storm gave out some light, it would have moved 
no resentment in me if he had seen (as rich men 
do) unfit to see a poor man. 

However, there was no such luck. He carried 


his loaded gun with its muzzle representing a 
point of view the very last I could have desired — 
namely, at my midships ; and he carried it so 
that I longed to have said a little word about 
carefulness. But I durst not, with his coal-black 
eyes fixed upon me as they were, and so I pulled 
up suddenly. For he had given me an imperi- 
ous nod, as good as ordering me to stop. 

“Wreck ashore!” he cried out in Welsh, hav- 
ing scarce a word of English — ‘ ‘ wreck ashore ! I 
smell her, Dyo. Don’t tell me.no lies, my boy. 
I smelled her all the afternoon. And high time 
to have one. ” 

“ There is a wreck ashore,” I answered, .look- 
ing with some disgust at him, as a man who has 
been wrecked himself must do at a cruel wreck- 
er; “but the ebb most likely will draw her off 
and drift her into the quicksands.” 

“Great God! speak not like that, my boy. 
The worst you are of every thing. If those two 
children came ashore, there must have been some- 
thing better.” And he peered at the children as 
if to search for any gold upon them. 

“Neither child came from that wreck* „ One is 
my granddaughter Bunny. Bunny, shcwv your- 
self to Black Evan.” But the child shrank closer 
behind me. “ Evan Black, you know her well. 
And the other is a little thing I picked up on the 
coast last night.” 

“Ha, ha! you pick up children where you put 
them, I suppose. But take them in-doors and 
be done with them. Cubs to come witli a wreck 
ashore, a noble wreck ashore, I say ! But come 
you down again, fishennan Dyo.” He used the 
word “fisherman” with a peculiar stress, and a 
glance of suspicion at my pockets. “ Come you 
down again, Dyo dear. I shall want you to help 
me against those thieves from Kenfig. Bring my 
other gun from the clock-case, and tell the boys 
to run down with their bando-sticks. I’ll war- 
rant we’ll clear the shore between us ; and then, 
good Dyo, honest Dyo, you shall have some — you 
shall, you dog. Fair play, Dyo ; fair share and 
share, though every stick is mine of right. Ah, 
Dyo, Dyo, you cunning sheep’s-head, you love a 
keg of rum, you dog!” 

This I knew to be true enough, but only within 
the bounds of both honesty and sobriety. ^But 
so much talking had made his brain, in its pres- 
ent condition, go round again ; and while I was 
thinking how far it might be safe and right to 
come into his views, his loaded gun began wag- 
ging about in a manner so highly dangerous, that 
for the sake of the two poor children I was obliged 
to get out of his way, and, looking back from a 
safer distance, there I beheld him flourishing with 
his arms on the top of a sand-hill, and waving 
his hat on the top of his gun, for his sons to come 
over the warren. 

Moxy Thomas was very kind ; she never could 
help being so, and therefore never got any thanks. 
She stripped the two wet children at once, and 
put them in bed together to keep each other 
warm. But first she had them snugly simmer- 
ing in a milk-pan of hot water Avith a little milk 
for the sake of their skins. Bunny was heavy 
and sleepy therein, and did nothing but yawn 
and stretch out her arms. Bardie, on the other 
hand, Avas ready to boil oA’er Avith delight and 
liA’eliness, flashing about like a little dab-chick. 

“Old Davy,” she said, as I came to see her at 
her OAvn invitation, and she sat quite over Bun- 


2G 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


ny, “ Til ’a have a ickle dop ?” With the water 
up to her neck, she put one mite of a transparent 
finger to ray grizzled mouth, and popped a large 
drop in, and laughed, until I could have worship- 
ped her. 

Now, having seen these two little dears fiist 
asleep and warmly compassed, I began, accord- 
ing to Evan’s orders, to ask al 30 ut the boys, not 
having seen any sign of them. Moxy said that 
Watkin went out to look for his five brothers 
about an hour after I had left, and in spite of the 
rain and lightning. She had tried in vain to stop 
him : something was on his mind, it seemed ; 
and when she went up to attend on his father, 
he took the opportunity to slip out of the kitchen. 

Now, Moxy having been in the house, and the 
house away from the worst of the storm, being 
moreover a Avoman, and therefore wholly abroad 
about weather, it was natural that she should not 
have even the least idea of the jeopardy encoun- 
tered by her five great sons in the Avarren. 
Enough for her that they Avere not at sea. Dan- 
ger from Aveather upon dry land Avas out of her 
comprehension. 

It Avanted perhaps half an hour of dusk, and 
had given OA'er raining, but Avas blowing a good 
reef-topsail gale, Avhen I started to search for the 
sons of Sker. Of course I said nothing to make 
their mother at all uneasy about them, but took 
from the clock-case the loaded gun (as EA'an had 
commanded me), and set forth upon the track 
of young Watkin, better foot foremost. For he 
was likely to knOAv best Avhat part of the Avarren 
his five great brothers had chosen for their sport 
that day ; and in the Avet sand it Avas easy to fol- 
loAv the course the boy had taken. 

The Avhirlwinds had ceased before he AA'ent 
forth, and the deluge of rain Avas now soaked in, 
through the drought so long abiding. But the 
Avind Avas Availing pitifully, and the rushes swayed 
wearily; and the yelloAV baldness, here and there, 
of higher sand-hills, caught the light. Ragged 
clouds ran over all, and streamers of the sunset ; 
and the jsky Avas like a school let loose, Avith the 
joy of Avind and rain again. It is not much of 
me that sAvears, Avhen circumstances force me ; 
only a piece, perhaps, of custom, and a piece of 
honesty. These two lead one astray sometimes ; 
and then comes disappointment. For I had let 
some anger vex me at the rudeness of Black Evan, 
and the ungodliness of his sons, Avhich forced me 
thus to come abroad, Avhen full of wet and weari- 
ness. In spite of this, I Avas grieved and fright- 
ened, and angry Avith no one but myself, Avhen 
I chanced upon boy Watkin, fallen into a tuft 
of rushes, Avith his blue eyes running torrents. 
There he lay, like a heap of trouble, as young 
folks do ere they learn the Avorld ; and I put him 
on his legs three times, but he managed to go 
doAvn again. At last I got his knees to stick ; 
but even so he turned away, and put his head 
betAveen his hands, and could not say a Avord to 
me. And by the Avay his shoulders went, I kneAv 
that he Avas sobbing. I asked him Avhat the 
matter was, and what he was taking so much to 
heart ; and, not to be too long over a trifle, at 
last I got this out of him : 

“Oh, good Mr. Llewelljm, dear, I never shall 
see nothing more of my great brothers five, so 
long as ever I do live. And when they kicked 
me out of bed eA^ery Sunday morning, and spread 
the basins over me, it Avas not that they meant 


to harm — I do feel it, I do feel it ; and perhaps 
my knees ran into them. Under the sands, the 
sands, they are ; and neA'er to kick me again no 
more! Of sorroAV it is more than ever I can 
tell.” 

“Watty,” said I, “Avhy talk you so? Your 
brothers knoAV every crick and corner of this 
Avarren, miles and miles, and could carry a sand- 
hill among them. They are snug enough some- 
Avhere Avith their game, and perhaps gone to 
sleep, like the little ones.” 

Of the babies’ adventures he kneAv nothing, 
and only stared at me ; so I asked him Avhat had 
scared him so ? 

“Under the sands, the sands, they are, so sure 
as eA'er I do Iwe. Or the rabbit-bag Avould not 
be here, and Dutch, Avho never, neA^er leaves them, 
hoAvling at the rabbit-bag 1” 

Looking farther through the tussocks, I saAV 
that it Avas even so. Dutch, the mongrel colly, 
crouched beside a bag of something, with her tail 
curled out of sight, and her ears laid flat and list- 
less, and her joAvl along the ground. And every 
noAv and then she gave a Ioav but ve^ grievous 
howl. 

“ Noaa', boy, don’t be a fool,” I said, with the 
desire to encourage him; “soon aa'C shall find 
your brothers fiA-e, Avith another great sack of 
rabbits. They left the bitch yonder to Avatch 
the sack, Avhile they AA^ent on for more, you see.” 

“ It is the sack ; the sack it is ! And no oth- 
er sack along of them. Oh, Mr. Llewellyn, dear, 
here is the bag, and there is Dutch, and never 
no sign at all of them ! ” 

At this I began to fear indeed that the matter 
Avas past helping — that an accident and a grief 
had happened Avorse than the droAvning of all the 
negroes Avhich it has ever pleased ProA’idence (in 
a darkness of mood) to create for us. But my 
main desire Avas to get poor Watty aAvay at once, 
lest he should encounter things too dreadful for 
a boy like him. 

“ Go home,” I said, “ Avith the bag of rabbits, 
and giA'e poor Dutch her supper. Your father is 
doAvn on the shore of the sea, and no doubt the 
boys are Avith him. They are gone to meet a 
great shipAvreck, Avorth all the rabbits all the Avay 
from Dunraven to Giant’s GraA'e.” 

“But little Dutch, it is little Dutch! They 
neA'er Avould leaA-e her, if Avreck there Avas. She 
can fetch out of the Avater so good almost as any 
dog.” 

I left him to his OAvn devices, being noAv tired 
of arguing. For by this time it Avas growing 
dark; and a heavy sea Avas roaring; and the 
AA'reck Avas sure to be breaking up, unless she had 
been SAvalloAved up. And the common sense of 
our village, and parish, Avould go very hard against 
me, for not being on the spot to keep the adja- 
cent parish from stealing ; for Kenfig and Noaa’- 
ton are full of each other, Avith a fine old ancient 
hatred. So aa'c climbed OA’er the crest of high 
sand, Avhere the rushes lay Aveltering after the 
Avind ; and then with a plunge of long strides 
doAATi hill, and plucking our feet out hastily, on 
the Avatered marge Ave stood, to which the sea 
was striA'ing. 

Among the rocks Black EA'an leaped, Avith Avhite 
foam nishing under him, and sallies of the stormy 
tide volleying to ingulf him. Strong liquor was 
still in his brain, and made him scorn bis danger, 
and thereby saA'ed him from it. One timid step. 


THE MAID OF SIH^R. 


27 


and the churning waters would have made a curd 
of him. The fury of his visage showed that 
somebody had wronged him, after whom he rush- 
ed with vengeance, and his great gun swinging. 

“Sons of dogs!” he cried in Welsh, alighting 
on the pebbles ; “ may the devil feed their fathers 
with a melting bowl I ” 

“What’s the rumpus now?” I asked; “what 
have your sons been doing?” 

For he always swore at his sons as freely as at 
any body’s, and at himself for begetting them. 

“My sons!” he cried, with a stamp of rage; 
“if my sons had been here, what man would have 
dared to do on the top of my head this thing ? 
Where are they ? I sent you for them.” 

“I have sought for them high and low,” I an- 
swered ; “here is the only one I could find.” 

‘ ‘ Watkin ! What use of Watkin ? A boy like 
a girl or a baby ! I want my five tall bully-boys 
to help their poor father’s livelihood. There’s 
little Tom tailor gone over the sand-hills "with a 
keg of something ; and Teddy shoemaker with a 
spar; and I only shot between them! Cursed 
fool ! what shall I come to, not to be able to shoot 
a man?” 

He had fired his gun, and was vexed, no doubt, 
at Avasting a charge so randomly ; then, spying 
his other gun on my shoulder, with the flint and 
the priming set, he laid his heavy hand on it. I 
scarce knew what to do, but feared any accident 
in the struggle ; and after all, he was not so drunk 
that the law' w'ould deny him his own gun. 

“ Ha, ha !” with a pat of the breech, he cried ; 
“ for this I owe thee a good turn, Dyo. Thou 
art loaded with rocks, my darling, as the other 
was with cowu'ies. Twenty to the pound of lead, 
for any longshore robbers. I see a lot more 
sneaking dow;n. Dyo, now for sport, my boy.” 

I saw some people, dark in the distance, under 
the brow of a sand-hill ; and before I could speak 
or think. Black Evan was off to run at them. I 
too set my feet for speed, but the strings of my 
legs hung backward; and Watty, who could run 
like a hare, seemed to lag behind me. And be- 
hind him there Avas little Dutch, crawling with 
her belly doAvn, and her eyes turned up at us, as 
if Ave AA'ere dragging her to be hanged. 

Until Ave heard a shout of people, through the 
roar of Avind and sea, in front of Avhere Black 
Evan strode ; and making tOAvards it, Ave beheld, 
in glimmering dusk of shore and sky, something 
Ave kneAV nothing of. 

A heavy sand-hill hung above them, Avith its 
broAV come over ; and long roots of rushes naked 
in the shrillness of the Avind. Under this Avere 
men at Avork, as we Avork for lives of men ; 
and their Sunday shirt-sleeA'es flashed, Avhite like 
ghosts, and gone again. Up to them strode Evan 
Black, OA’er the marge of the Avild March tides, 
and grounded his gun and looked at them. They 
for a breath gazed up at him, and seemed to think 
and wonder ; and then, as though they had not 
seen him, fell again a-digging. 

“What means this?” he roared at them, Avith 
his great eyes flashing fire, and his long gun lev- 
elled. But they neither left their Avork nor lifted 
head to ansAver him. The yelloAv sand came slid- 
ing doAA'n, in Avedge-shaped runnels, OA'er them, 
and their feet sank out of sight ; but still they 
kept on Avorking. 

“Come aAvay, then, Evan great; come aAvay 
and seek for Avreck,”! shouted, Avhile he seemed 


to stand in heaviness of Avonder. “This is not 
a place for you. Come aAA'ay, my man, my boy.” 

Thus I spoke, in Welsh, of course, and thrcAV 
my Avhole Aveight on his arm, to make him come 
aAvay Avith me. But he set his feet in sand, and 
spread his legs, and looked at me ; and the strong- 
est man that vA'as eA'er born could not have torn 
him from his hold, Avith those eyes upon him. 

“Dyo, I am out of dreaming. Dyo, I must 
see this Avreck ; only take the gun from me.” 

This I AA’ould have done right gladly, but he 
changed his mind about it, falling back to a sav- 
age mood. 

“You doAA'n there, Avho gaA'e you leave to come 
and dig my sand-hills ? AnsAver, or have skins 
of lead.” 

Tavo or three of the men looked up and Avant- 
ed to say something. But the head man from 
the mines, Avho understood the whole of them, 
nodded, and they held their tongues. Either they 
Avere brave men all (Avhich never is Avithout disci- 
pline), or else the sense of human death confused 
and overpoAvered them. Whatever they meant, 
they Avent on digging. 

“Some d — d sailor under there,” cried Evans, 
losing patience; “little mustard-spoons of sand. 
Can’t you throAv it faster ? Fine young fellows, 
three of them, in the hole their OAvn ship made, 
last March tide, it must have been. Let us see 
this new batch come. They alAA'ays seem to have 
spent their Avages before they learn to droAvn 
themselves.” 

He laughed, and laid his gun aside, and asked 
me for tobacco, and, tiwing to be sober, sang “the 
rising of the lark.” I, for my part, shrunk aAA'ay, 
and my flesh craAvled over me. 

“Work aAA'ay, my lads, Avork atvay. You are 
all of a mind to warm yourselves. Let me knoAV 
Avhen you haA'e done. And all you find belongs 
to me. I can sit and see it out, and make a 
list of every thing. Ear-rings gold, and foreign 
pieces, and the trinkets they have Avorn. Out 
Avith them ! I know them all. Fools ! Avhat use 
of skulking ? You are on soft stuff*, I see. HaA'e 
out eA'ery one of them.” 

So they did ; and laid before him, in the order 
of their birth, the carcasses of his Aa'c sons. EA'an 
first, his eldest-bora ; Thomas next, and Bees, 
and Hopkins, and then (Avith the sigh of death 
still in him) Jenkin, neAvly turned fifteen. 

CHAPTER XII. 

HOAV TO SELL FISH. 

WiiAT I had seen that night upset me more 
than I like to dwell upon. But Avith all my fish 
on hand, I Avas forced to make the best of it ; for 
a doAvnhearted man will turn meat, as Ave say, 
and much more, fish, to a farthing’s-Avorth. And 
though my heart Avas sore and heavy for my an- 
cient sAA'eetheart Moxy, and for little Bardie in 
the thick of such disasters ; that could be no ex- 
cuse to me for Avasting good fish — or at least 
pretty good — and losing thoroughly gOod money. 

Here Avere the mullet, Avith less of shine than 
I alAvays recommend and honestly Avish them to 
possess ; here Avere the praAvns, Avith a look of 
paleness, and almost of languishing, such as they 
are bound to ayoid until money paid and count- 
ed ; and most of all, here Avere laAvful bass, of 


28 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


very great size and substance, inclined to do 
tb.emselves more justice in the scales than on the 
dish. 

I saw that this would never answer to ray pres- 
ent high repute. Concerning questions afterwards, 
and ])eople being hard upon me, out of thought- 
less ignorance, that was none of my affair. The 
whole of that would go, of course, upon the weath- 
er and sudden changes, such as never were known 
before. And if good, religious people would not 
so be satisfied with the will of Providence to have 
their fish as fish are made, against them I had 
another reason, which never fails to satisfy. 

The “ burning tide,” as they called it (through 
which poor Bardie first appeared), had been 
heard of far inland, and with one consent pro- 
nounced to be the result of the devil improper- 
ly flipping his tail while bathing. Although the 
weather had been so hot, this rumor was beyond 
my belief ; nevertheless I saw my way, if any old 
customer should happen, when it came to his din- 
der-time, to be at all discontented (which no man 
with a fine appetite and a wholesome nose should 
indulge in) — I saw my way to sell him more, 
upon the following basket-day, by saying what 
good people said, and how much I myself had 
seen of it. 

With these reflections I roused my spirits, and 
resolved to let no good fish be lost, though it took 
all the week to sell them. For, in spite of the 
laws laid down in the books (for young married 
women, and so forth), there is scarcely any other 
thing upon which both men and women may be 
led astray so pleasantly as why to buy fish, and 
when to buy fish, and what fish to buy. 

Therefore I started in good spirits on the Mon- 
day morning, carrying with me news enough to 
sell three times the weight I bore, although it was 
breaking my back almost. Good fish it was, and 
deserved all the praise that ever I could bestow 
on it, for keeping so well in such shocking Aveath- 
er ; and so I sprinkled a little salt in some of the 
delicate places, just to store the flaAW there ; for 
cooks are so forgetful, and always put the blame 
on me when they fail of producing a fine fresh 
smell. 

Also knowing, to my sorrow, hoAV suspicious 
people are, and narrow-minded to a degree none 
AA’ould give them credit for, I Avas forced to do a 
thing Avhich ahA'ays makes me to myself seem 
almost uncharitable. 

But I felt that I could trust nobody to haA’e 
proper faith in me, especially Avhen Jthey might 
behold the eyes of the fishes retire a little, as they 
are very apt to do Avhen too many dqoks have 
looked at them. And knoAving hoAV strong the 
prejudice of the public is in this respect, I felt 
myself bound to gratify it, though at some cost 
of time and trouble. This method I do not mind 
describing (as I am now pretty clear of the trade) 
for the good of my brother fishermen. 

When the eyes of a fish begin to fail him 
through long retirement from the water, you may 
strengthen his mode of regarding the Avorld (and 
therefore the Avorld’s regard* for him) by a deli- 
cate piece of handling. Keep a ray-fish always 
ready — it does not matter hoAV stale he is — a»'u 
on the same day on AA'hich you are going to s* 11 
your bass, or mullet, or cod, or Avhatever it may 
be, pull a fcAV sharp spines, as clear as you can, 
out of this good ray. Then open the mouth of 
your languid fish and embolden the aspect of 


either eye by fetching it up from despondency 
y’ith a skeAver of proper length extended from 
one ball to the other. It is almost sure to drop 
out in the cooking ; and e\’en if it fails to do so, 
none Avill be the wiser, but take it for a provision 
of nature — as indeed it ought to be. 

Now, if any body is rude enough to gainsay 
your fish in the market, you have the evidence 
of the eyes and hands against that of the nose 
alone. “ Why, bless me, madam,” I used to say, 
“a ladylike you, that understands fish a great 
deal better than I do ! His eyes are coming out 
of his head, ma’am, to hear you say such things 
of him. Afloat he was at four this morning, and 
his eyes Avill speak to it.” And so he A\'as, Avell 
afloat in my tub, before I began to prepare him 
for a last appeal to the public. Only they must 
not float too long or the scales Avill not be stiff 
enough. 

Being up to a few of these things, and feeling 
veiy keenly hoAV hard the public ahvays tries to 
get upper hand of me, and Avould beat me doAvn 
to half nothing a pound (if allowed altogether its 
OAvn Avay), I fought very bravely the Avhole of that 
Monday to turn a few honest shillings. “Good 
Old DaAy, fine Old DaA-y, brave Old Davy ! ” they 
said I Avas every time I abated a half-penny ; and 
I called them generous gentlemen and Christian- 
minded ladies every time they AA'anted to smell 
my fish, which is not right before payment! What 
right has any man to disparage the property of 
another? When you have bought him, he is your 
own, and you have the title to canvass him ; but 
when he is put in the scales, remember “noth- 
ing but good of the dead,” if you remember any 
thing. 

As I sat by the cross-roads in Bridgend on the 
bottom of a bucket, and Avith a four-legged dress- 
ing-table (hired for tAvo-pence) in front of me, Avho 
should come up but the Avell-knoAvn Brother Hez- 
ekiah ! Truly tired I was getting, after plodding 
through Merthyr MaAvr, Ogmore, and Ewenny, 
Llaleston, and Newcastle, and driven at last to 
the tOAvn of Bridgend. For some of my fish had 
a gamesome odor when first I set off in the morn- 
ing ; and although the rain had cooled down the 
air, it Avas now become an unAvise thing to rec- 
ommend Avhat still remained to any man of un- 
christian spirit, or possessing the ear of the mag- 
istrates. 

Noav perhaps I should not say this thing, and 
many may think me inclined to A'aunt, and call 
me an old coxcomb ; but if any man could sell 
stinking fish in the times of Avhich I am Avriting 
— and then it A\'as ten times harder than noAv, 
because women looked after marketing — that 
man I A'erily believe was this old Davy LlcAvel- 
lyn ; and right he has to be proud of it. But 
Avhat Avere left on my hands that evening Avere 
beginning to get so strong, that I feared they 
must go over Bridgend Bridge into the River 
Ogmore. 

The big coach Avith the London letters, which 
came then almost tAvice a Aveek, Avas just gone 
on, after stopping three hours to rest the horses 
and feed the people ; and I had done some bus- 
iness AAuth them, for London folk for the most 
part have a kind and pleasing ignorance. They 
paid me Avell, and I seiwed them Avell Avith fish of 
a fine high flaA^or ; but noAv I had some Avhich I 
Avould not offer to such kind-hearted gentry. 

Hezekiah Avanted fish. I saAV it by his nos- 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


29 


trils, and I knew it for certain when he pretended 
not to see me or my standing. He went a good 
bit round the comer, as if to deal with the iron- 
monger. But for all that, I knew as well as if I 
could hear his wife beginning to rake the fire, 
that fish for supper was the business which had 
brought him across the bridge. Therefore I re- 
fused an offer, which I would have jumped at be- 
fore seeing Hezekiah, of two-pence a pound for 
the residue, from an old woman who sold pickles ; 
and I made up my mind to keep up the price, 
knowing the man to have ten in family, and all 
blessed with good appetites. 

“What, Davy! Brother Davy!” he cried, 
being compelled to begin, because I took care 
not to look at him. “Has it been so ordered 
that I behold good Brother Davy with fish upon 
a Monday ?” His object in this was plain enough 
— to beat doum my goods by terror of an infor- 
mation for Sabbath-labor. 

“The Lord has been merciful to me,” I an- 
swered, patting my best fish on his shoulder-; 
“not only in sending them straight to my net, 
at nine o’clock this morning ; but also. Brother 
Hezekiah, in the hunger all people have for them. 
I would that I could have kept thee a taste ; not 
soon wouldst thou forget it. Sweeter fish and 
finer fish never came out of Newton Bay ” — this 
I said because Newton Bay is famous for high 
quality. ‘ ‘But, Brother Hezekiah, thou art come 
too late.” And I began to pack up veiy hastily. 

“What!” cried Hezekiah, with a keen and 
hungrily grievous voice ; “ all those fish be- 
spoken, Davy ?” 

‘ ‘ Every one of them bespoken, brother ; by a 
man who knows a right down good bass, better 
almost than I do — Griffy, the ‘Cat and Snuff- 
ers.’ ” 

Now, Griffith, who kept the “Cat and Snuff- 
ers,” was a very jovial man, and a bitter enemy 
to Hezekiah Perkins ; and I knew that the latter 
would gladly offer a penny a pound upon Griffy’s 
back, to spoil him of his supper, and to make 
him offend his customers. 

“Stop, Brother Davy,” cried Hezekiah, stretch- 
ing out his broad fat hands, as I began to pack 
my fish, with the freshest smellers uppermost ; 
“ Davy dear, this is not right, nor like our an- 
cient friendship. A rogue like Griffy to cheat 
you so! What had he beaten you down to, 
Davy ?” ^ 

“Beaten me do\vn!” I said, all in a hurry: 
“is it likely I would be beaten down, with their 
eyes coming out of their heads like that ?” 

“Now, dear brother Dyo, do have patience! 
What was he going to give you a pound ?” 

“ Four-pence a pound, and ten pound of them. 
Three-and-fourpence for a lot like that! Ah, 
the times are bad indeed!” 

“Dear Brother Dyo, fourpence - halfpenny ! 
Three-and-nine down, for the lot as it stands.” 

“ Hezekiah, for what do you take me? Cut 
a farthing in, four, when you get it. Do I look a 
likely man to "be a rogue for five-pence ?” 

“No, no, Davy"; don’t be angry with me. 
Say as much as ten-pence. Four-and-twopence, 
ready money ; and no Irish coinage.” 

“ Brother Hezekiah,” said I, “ a bargain struck 
is a bargain kept. Rob a man of his supper for 
ten-pence !” 

“Oh, Dyo, Dyo! you never would think of 
that man’s supper, with my wife longing for fish 


so ! Such a fiimily as we have, and the weak- 
ness in Hepzibah’s back ! Five shillings for the 
five, Davy.” 

“There, there; take them along,” I cried at 
last, with a groan from my chest : “ you are 
bound to be the ruin of me. But what can I do 
with aaielicate lady? Brother, surely you have 
been a little too hard upon me. Whatever sliall 
I find to say to a man who never beats me down ?” 

“Tell that worldly ‘Cat and Snuffers’ that 
your fish were much too good — why, Davy, they 
seem to smell a little ! ” 

“And small use they would be, Hezekiah, ei- 
ther for taste or for nourishment, unless they had 
the sea-smell now. Brother, all your money 
back, and the fish to poor Griffy, if you know not 
the smell of salt-water yet.” 

“Now, don’t you be so hot. Old Davy. The 
fish are good enough, no doubt ; and it may be 
from the skewer- wood ; but they have a sort, not 
to say a smell, but a manner of reminding one — ” 

“Of the savory stuff they feed on,” said I; 
“and the thorough good use they make of it. 

A fish must eat, and so must we, and little blame 
to both of us.” 

With that he bade me “good-night,” and went 
with alacrity towards his supper, scornfully sneer- 
ing as he passed the door of the “ Cat and Snuff- 
ers.” But though it was a fine thing for me, and 
an especial Providence, to finish oft' my stock so 
well, at a time when I would have taken gladly 
a shilling for the lot of it, yet 1 felt that circum- 
stances were against my lingering. Even if Heze- 
kiah, unable to enter into the vein of my fish, 
should find himself too fat to hurry down the 
steep hill after me, still there were many other 
people, fit for supper, and fresh for it, from the 
sudden coolness, whom It was my duty now to 
preserve from mischief ; by leaving proper inter- 
val for consideration, before I might happen to 
be in front of their dining-room windows another 
day. 

Therefore, with a grateful sense of good-will 
to all customers, I thought it better to be off. 
There I had been, for several hours, ready to 
prove any thing, but never challenged by any 
body ; and my spirit had grown accordingly. 

But I never ye^ have found it wise to overlie suc- 
cess. Win it, and look at it, and be off, is the 
quickest way to get some more. So I scarcely 
even called so much as a pint at the “Cat and 
Snufters,” to have a laugh with Griffy; but set 
off for Newton, along the old road, with a good 
smart heel, and a fine day’s business, and a light 
heart inside of me. 

When I had passed Red Hill and Tythegston, 
and clearly was out upon Newton Down, where 
the glow-worms are most soft and sweet, it came 
upon me, in looking up from the glow-worms to 
the stars of heaven, to think and balance how far 
I was right in cheating Hezekiah. It had been 
done with the strictest justice, because his entire 
purpose was purely to cheat me. Whereupon 
Providence had stepped in and seen that I was 
the better man. I was not so ungrateful — let 
nobody suppose it — as to repine at this result. 

far from that, that I rattled my money and 
i’^d a good laugh, and went on again. But be- 
ing used to Avatch the stars, as an old sailor is 
bound to do, I thought that Orion ought to be up, ^ 
and I could not see Orion. This struck me as 
an unkindly thing, although, when I thought of 


30 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


it next day, I found that Orion was quite right, I 
and perhaps the beer a little strong which had led 
me to look out for him ; anyhow, it threw me 
back to think of Hezekiah, and make the worst 
of him to myself for having had the best of him. 

Every body may he sure that I never would 
have gone out of the way to describe my traffic 
with that man unless there were good reason. 
Ray, but I wanted to show you exactly the cast 
and the color of man he was, by setting forth his 
low attempt to get my fish for nothing. 

There was no man, of course, in my native vil- 
lage, and very few in Bridgend perhaps, to whom 
I Avould have sold those fish, unless they were 
going to sell it again. But Hezekiah Perkins, a 
member and leading elder of the “Nicodemus- 
Christians,” was so hard a man to cheat — except 
by stimng of his gall — and so keen a cheat him- 
self ; so proud, moreover, of his wit and praying, 
and truly brotherly — that lead him astray was 
the very first thing desired by a sound Church- 
man. 

By trade and calling he had been — before he 
received his special call — no more than a common 
blacksmith. Now a blacksmith is a most useful 
man, full of news and full of jokes, and very oft- 
en by no means drunk ; this, however, was not 
enough to satisfy Hezekiah. Having parts, as he 
always told us — and sometimes we wished that 
he had no whole — cultivated parts, moreover, and 
taken up by the gentry, nothing of a lower order 
came up to his merits than to call himself as fol- 
lows ; “ Horologist, Gunsmith, Practical Turner, 
Working Goldsmith and Jeweller, Maker of all 
Machinery, and Enginemaii to the King and 
Queen.” 

The first time he put this over his door, all the 
neighbors laughed at him, knowing (in spite of 
the book he had got, full of figures and shapes 
and crossings, which he called “ Three-gun-ome- 
try ”) that his education was scarcely up to the 
rule of three, without any guns. Nevertheless he 
got on well, having sense enough to guide him 
when to talk large (in the presence of people who 
love large talk as beyond them), and when to sing 
small, and hold his tongue, and nod at the proper 
distances, if ever his business led him among 
gentry of any sense or science, such as we some- 
times hear of. Hence it was that he got the or- 
der to keep the church-clock of Bridgend agoing 
by setting the hands on twice a day, and giving a 
push to the pendulum ; and so long as the clock 
would only go, nobody in the town cared a tick 
whether it kept right time or wrong. And if 
people from the country durst say any thing about 
it, it was always enough to ask them what their 
own clocks had to say. 

There were not then many stable-clocks, such 
as are growing upon us now, so that every horse 
has his own dinner-bell ; only for aU those that 
were, Hezekiah received, I dare say, from five to 
ten shillings a month apiece in order to keep them 
moving. But, bless my heart ! he knew less of 
a clock than I, old Davy Llewlljm ; and once on 
a time I asked him, when he talked too much of 
his ‘ ‘ ometries ” — as a sailor might do in his sim- 
pleness — I asked him to take an “obseiwation,” 
as I had seen a good deal of it. But all he did 
was to make a very profane and unpleasant one. 
As for this man’s outward looks, he was nothing 
at all particular, but usually with dirt about him, 
and a sense of oiliness. Why he must needs set 


I up for a saint the father of evil alone may tell ; 
but they said that the clock that paid him best 
(being the worst in the neighborhood) belonged 
to a Nicodemus-Christian, with a great cuckoo 
over it. Having never seen it, I can not say ; 
and the town is so full of gossip that I throw my- 
self down on my back and listen, being wholly 
unahle to vie with them in depth or in compass 
of story-teUing, even when fish are a week on my 
hands. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE CORONER AND THE CORONET. 

An officer of high repute had lately been set 
over us, to hold account of the mischief, and to 
follow evidence, and make the best he could of it 
when any body chose to die without giving proper 
notice. He called himself “Coroner of the King 
and all the doctors, such as they were, made it a 
point that he must come, whenever there was a 
dead man or woman who had died without their 
help. 

Now all about the stonn of sand, and all about 
the shipwreck, was known in every part of the 
parish, before the church-clock had contrived, in 
gratitude to Hezekiah, to strike the noon of Mon- 
day. Every child that went to the well knew 
the truth of every thing ; and every woman df 
Newton and Nottage had formed from the men 
her owm opinion, and was ready to stand thereby, 
and defy all the other women. 

Nevertheless some busy doctor (who had better 
been in the stocks) took it for a public duty to 
send notice and demand for the coroner to sit 
upon us. The wrath of the parish (now just be- 
ginning to find some wreck that would pay for 
the ropes) was so honest and so grave, that the 
little doctor was compelled to run, and leave his 
furniture. And so it always ought to be with 
people who are meddlesome. 

It came to my knowledge that this must hap- 
pen, and that I was bound to help in it, some- 
where abouir middle-day of Tuesday ; at a time 
when I was not quite as well as I find myself 
when I have no money. For, being pleased with 
my luck, perhaps, and not content quite to smoke 
in the dark, and a little dry after the glow-worms, 
it happened (I will not pretend to say how) that 
I dropped into the “Jolly Sailors,” to know what 
the people could be about, making such a great 
noise as they were, and keeping a quiet man out 
of his bed. 

There I smelled a new tobacco, directly I was 
in the room ; and somebody (pleased with my 
perception) gave me several pipes of it, with a 
thimbleful — as I became more and more agreeable 
— of a sort of rum-and-water. And, confining 
myself, as my principle is, to what the public treat 
me to, it is not quite out of the question that I 
may have been too generous. And truly full I 
was of grief, upon the following onorning, that 
somebody had made me promise, in a bubbling 
moment, to be there again, and bring my fiddle, 
on the Tuesday night. 

Now, since the death of my dear wife, who 
never put up with my fiddle (except when I was 
courting her), it had seemed to my feelings to be 
almost a levity to go fiddling. Also I knew what 
every body would begin to say of me ; but the 
landlord, foreseeing a large attendance after the 


THE MAID OF SI^ER. 31 


coroner’s inquest, would not for a moment hear 
of any breach of my fiddle pledge. 

Half of Newton, and perhaps all Nottage, went 
to Sker the following day to see the coroner, and 
to give him the benefit of their opinions. And 
another piece of luck there was to tempt them in 
that direction. For the ship, which had been 
wrecked and had disappeared for a certain time, 
in a most atrocious manner, was rolled about so 
by the tide and a shift of the wind on Monday, 
that a precious large piece of her stern was in 
sight from the shore on Tuesday morning. It 
lay not more than a cable’s length from low-wa- 
ter-mark, and -was heaved up so that we could 
see as far as the starboard mizzen-chains. Part 
of the tafirail was carried away, and the carving 
gone entirely, but the transom and transom- 
knees stood firm ; and of the ship’s name, done in 
gold, I could make out in large letters ta lucia ; 
and underneath, in a curve, and in smaller letters, 

ADOK. 

Of course no one except myself could make 
head or tail of this ; but, after thinking a little 
while, I was pretty sure of the meaning of it — 
namely, that the craft was Portuguese, called the 
Santa Lucia, and trading from San Salvador, the 
capital of Brazils. And in this opinion I was 
confirmed by observing, through my spy - glass, 
copper bolt-heads of a pattern such as I had seen 
at Lisbon, but never in any British ship. How- 
ever, I resolved for the present to keep my opin- 
ion to myself, unless it were demanded upon good 
authority. For it made me feel confused in 
mind, and perhaps a little uneasy, when, being 
struck by some resemblance, I pulled from the 
lining of my hat a leaf of a book, upon which I 
copied all that could be made out of the letters, 
each side of the tiller of my new boat ; and now 
I found them to be these — uc from the starboard 
side, just where they would have stood in Lucia 
— and DOR from the farther end gf the fine, just 
as in San Salvador. 

The sands were all alive with people, and the 
rocks, and every place where any thing good 
might have drifted. For Evan Thomas could 
scarcely come, at a time of such affliction, to as- 
sert his claims of wreck, and to belabor right and 
left. Therefore, for a mile or more, from where 
the land begins to dip, and the old stone wall, 
like a jagged cord, divides our parish from Ken- 
fig, hundreds of figures might be seen, running 
along the gray wet sands, and reflected by their 
brightness. The day was going for two of the 
clock, and the tide growing near to the turn of 
ebb ; and the land-springs oozing down from the 
beach, spread the whole of the flat sands so, with 
a silver overlaying, that without keen sight it 
was hard to tell where the shore ended and sea 
began. And a great part of this space was sprink- 
led with naked feet going pattering — boys and 
girls, and young women and men, who had left 
their shoes up high on the rocks, to have better 
chance in the racing. 

Now it is not for me to say that all or half of 
these good people were so brisk because they ex- 
pected any fine thing for themselves. I would 
not even describe them as waiting in readiness 
for the force of fortune by the sea administered. 
I believe that all were most desirous of doing 
good, if possible. In the first case, to the poor 
people drowned ; but if too late, then to console 
any disconsolate relations : failing of which, it 


would be hard if any body should blame them for 
picking up something for themselves. 

“ What ! you here. Mother Probyn ?” I cried, 
coming upon a most pious old woman, who led 
the groaning at Zoar Chapel, and being for the 
moment struck out of all my manners by sight of 
her. 

“Indeed, and so I am. Old Davy,” she an- 
swered, without abashment, and almost too busy 
to notice me ; “ the Lord may bless my poor en- 
deavors to rescue them poor Injuns. But I can’t 
get on without a rake. If I had only had the 
sense to bring my garden-rake. There are so 
many little things, scarcely as big as cockle- 
shells ; and the waves do drag them away from 
me. Oh, there, and there goes another I Gwen- 
ny, if I don’t smack you !” 

All these people, and all their doings, I left 
with a sort of contempt, perhaps, such as breaks 
out on me now and then at any very great little- 
ness. And I knew that nothing worth wet of the 
knees could be found with the ebb-tide running, 
and ere the hold of the ship broke up. 

So I went towards the great house, whose sor- 
rows and whose desolation they took little heed 
of. And nothing made me feel more sad — 
strange as it may seem, and tvas — thaii to think 
of poor Black Evan, thus unable to stand up and 
fight for his unrighteous rights. 

In the great hall were six bodies, five of strong 
young men laid quiet, each in his several coffin ; 
and the other of a little child in a simple dress of 
white, stretched upon a piece of board. Death I 
have seen in all his manners, since I was a cab- 
in-boy, and I took my hat off to the bodies, as I 
had seen them do abroad ; but when I saw the 
small dead child, a thrill and pang of cold went 
through me. I made sure of nothing else, except 
that it was dear Bardie. That little darling whom 
I loved, for her gifts direct from God, and her 
ways, so out of the way to all other children — it 
struck my heart with a power of death, that here 
this lively soul was dead. 

Wlien a man makes a fool of himself, any body 
may laugh at him ; and this does him good, per- 
haps, and hardens him against inore trouble. 
But bad as I am, and sharp as I am, in other 
people’s opinion (and proud sometimes to think 
of it), I could not help a good gulp of a tear over 
what I believed to be the body of poor little Bar- 
die. For that child had such nice Avays, and 
took such upper hand of me ; that, expecting to 
find a captain ahA'ays, especially among w'onien — 

“Old DaAy, I ’ants ’a. Old Davy, ’hen is ’a 
coming?” 

By the union-jack ! it was as good as a dozen 
kegs of rum to me. There -was no mistaking the 
sweetest and clearest voice CA'er heard outside of 
a flute. And presently began pit-pat of the pret- 
tiest feet ever put in a shoe, down the great oak 
staircase. She held on by the rails, and showed 
no fear at all about it, though the least slip might 
have killed her. Then she saw the sad black 
sight after she turned the corner, and wondered 
at the meaning of it, and her little heart stood 
still. As she turned to me in awe, and held out 
both hands quivering, I caught her up, and spread 
my gray beard over her young, frightened eyes, 
and took her out of sight of all those cold and 
very dreadful things. 

I had never been up the stairs before in that 
dark and ancient house ; and the length, and the 


V 


33 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


width, and the dreariness, and the creaking noises, 
frightened me ; not so much for my own sake 
(being never required to sleep there), but for the 
tender little creature, full already of timid fancies, 
who must spend the dark nights there. And 
now the house, left empty of its noise, and 
strength, and boastfulness, had only five more 
ghosts to wander silent through the silent places. 
And this they began the very night after their 
bodies were in a church-yard. 

The coroner came on an old white pony, near- 
ly four hours after the time for which his clerk 
had ordered us. Being used, for my part, to 
royal discipline, and every thing done to the min- 
ute fixed, with the captain’s voice like the crack 
of a gun, I was vexed and surprised ; but expect- 
ed him to give us some reason, good or bad. In- 
stead of that he roared out to us, with his feet 
still in both stiiTups, “ Is there none of you Taf- 
fies with manners enough to come and hold a 
gentleman’s horse ? Here you, Davy Jones, you 
are long enough, and lazy enough ; put your 
hand to the bridle, will you ?” 

This was to me, who was standing by in the 
very height of innocence, having never yet seen 
any man appointed to sit upon dead bodies, and 
desiring to know how he could help them. I did 
for hisd/onor all I could, although his manner of 
speech was not in any way to my liking. But 
my rule has always been that of the royal navy, 
than which there is no wiser. If my equal in- 
sults me, I knock him down : if my officer does 
it, I knock under. 

Meanwhile our people were muttering “Sas- 
senach!” “ Sassenach 1” And from their faces it 
w'as plain that they did not like an Englishman 
to sit upon Cwmric bodies. However, it was the 
old, old thing. The Welsh must do all the real 
work ; and the English be paid for sitting upon 
them after they are dead. 

“ I never sat on a black man yet, and I won’t 
sit on a black man now,” the coroner said, when 
he was sure about oats enough for his pony ; “ I’ll 
not disgrace his majesty’s writ by sitting upon 
d — d niggers.” 

“Glory be to God, your honor!” Stradling 
Williams cried, who had come as head of the 
jury : clerk he was of Newton Church, and could 
get no fees unless upon a Christian burial: “we 
thought your honor would hardly put so great a 
disgrace upon us ; but we knew not how the law 
lay.” 

“The law requires no Christian man,” pro- 
nounced the crowner, that all might hear, “to 
touch pitch, and defile himself — both in body and 
soul. Master Clerk, to lower and defile himself!” 

Hereupon a high hard screech, which is all we 
have- in Wales for the brave hurrah of English- 
men, showed that all the jury were of one accord 
with the coroner : and I was told by somebody 
that all had shaken hands, and sworn to strike 
work, rather than put up with misery of con- 
science. 

“But, your honor,” said Mr. Lewis, bailiff to 
Colonel Lougher, “if we hold no quest on the 
black men, how shall we certify any thing about 
this terrible shipwreck ?” 

“The w'reck is no concern of mine,” answered 
the crowner, crustily : “ it is not my place to sit 
upon planks, but upon Christian bodies. Do 
you attend to your own business, and leave mine 
to me, sir. ” 


The bailiff, being a nice quiet man, thought it 
best to say no more. But some of the people, 
who were thronging from every direction to see 
his honor, told him about the little white baby 
found among the bladder-weed. He listened to 
this, and then he said, 

“Show me this little white infant discovered 
among the black men. My business here is not 
with infants, but with five young smothered men. 
However, if there be an infant of another acci- 
dent, and of Christian color, I will take it as a 
separate case, and d — n the county in the fees.” 

We assured his lordship, as every one now be- 
gan to call him (in virtue of his swearing so, 
which no doubt was right in a man empowered 
to make other people swear), we did our best, at 
any rate, to convince the crowner, that over and 
above all black men, there verily was a little 
child, and, for all one could tell, a Christian 
child, entitled to the church -yard, and good 
enough for him to sit on. And so he entered 
the house to see it. 

But if he had sworn a little before (and more 
than I durst set down for him), he certainly swore 
a great deal now, and poured upon us a bitter heat 
of English indignation. All of the jury were taken 
aback ; and I, as a witness, felt most uneasy ; un- 
til we came to understand that his honor’s wrath 
was justly kindled on account of some marks on 
the baby’s clothes. 

“A coronet!” he cried, stamping about; “a 
coronet on my young lord’s pinafore, and you 
stupid oafs never told me ! ” 

Nobody knew except myself (who had sailed 
with an earl for a captain) what the meaning of 
this thing was ; and when the clerk of the church 
was asked, rather than own his ignorance, he said 
it was part of the ai-ms of the cro^vn ; and the 
crowner was bound like a sfeal by it. 

This explanation satisfied all the people of 
the parish, except a few far-going Baptists, with 
whom it was a point of faith always to cavil and 
sneer at every “ wdnd of doctrine,” as they always 
call it — the scent of which could be traced, any- 
how, to either the parson or the clerk, or even 
the grave-digger. But I was content to look on 
and say nothing, having fish to sell, at least twice 
a week, and finding all customers orthodox, until 
they utter bad shillings. 


CHAPTER IV. 

IN ACCORDANCE "WITH TUE EVIDENCE. 

There is no need for me to follow all the 
crowner’s doings, or all that the juries thought 
and said, which was different altogether from 
what they meant to think and say. And he 
found himself bound to have rivo of them, with 
first right of inquest to the baby, because of the 
stamp on his pinafore. And here I was, fore- 
man of the jury, with fifteen-pence for my serv- 
ices, and would gladly have served on the other 
jury after walking all that way, but was disabled 
for doing so, and only got nine-pence for testi- 
mony. With that. However, I need not meddle, 
as every one knows all about it; only, to make 
clear all that happened, and, indeed, to clear my- 
self, I am forced to put before you all that we did 
about that baby, as fully and emphatically as the 
state of our doings upon that occasion permitted 
me to remember it. 


THE MAID 

For the coroner sat at the-head of the table, in 
the great parlor of the house ; and the dead child 
came in on his board, and we all regarded him 
carefully, especially heeding his coronet mark, 
and then set him by the window. A fine young 
boy enough to look at, about the age of our Bar- 
die, and might have been her twin -brother, as 
every body vowed he w’as, only his face was bold- 
er and stronger, and his nose quite different, and 
altogether a brave young chap, instead of fun- 
ny and delicate. All this, however, might well 
have come from knocking about in the sea so 
much. 

I would have given a good half-crown to have 
bitten off my foolish tongue, when one of the ju- 
rymen stood up and began to address the cor- 
oner. He spoke, unluckily, very good English, 
and his honor Avas glad to pay heed to him. 
And the clerk put doAvn nearly all he said, Avord 
for Avord, as might be. This meddlesome felloAV 
(being no less than brother Hezekiah’s self) nod- 
ded to me for leave to speak, Avhich I could not 
deny him ; and his honor lost no time AvhateA’er 
to put his mouth into his mmmer of punch, as 
noAV provided for all of us, and to boAv (Avhen- 
eA'er his mouth was empty) to that of Hezekiah. 
For the man had Avon some reputation, or rather 
had made it, for himself, by perpetual talking, as 
if he Avere skilled in the history and antiquities 
of the neighborhood. Of these he made so rare 
a patchAvork, heads and tails, prose, verse, and 
proverbs, histories, and his stories, that (as I heard 
from a man of real teaching and learning who 
met him once and kept out of his AAvay ever after) 
any one trusting him might sit doAvn in the chair 
of Canute at King Arthur’s table. Not that I or 
any of my neighbors Avould be the Avorse for doing 
that; only the thought of it frightened us, and 
made us unAvilling to hearken him much. 

HoAvever, if there Avas any matter on which 
Hezekiah deserved to be heard, no doubt it was 
this upon Avhich he Avas now deliA’ering his opin- 
ions — to wit, the great inroad or invasion of the 
sand, for miles along our coast ; of Avhich there 
are very strange things to tell, and of Avhich he 
had made an especial study, having a field at Can- 
dleston Avith a shed upon it and a rick of hay, all 
Avhich disappeared in a single night, and none Avas 
CA^er seen afterAvards. It Avas the only field he 
had, being left to him by his grandmother ; and 
many people Avere disappointed that he had not 
slept Avith his coav that night. This directed his 
attention to the serious consideration, as he al- 
w'ays told us at first start, being a lover of three- 
decked Avords, of the most important contempla- 
tion Avhich could occupy the attention of any Cam- 
brian land-OAvner. 

“ShoAv your land,” cried a Avag of a tailor, 
with none to cross his legs upon ; but Ave put him 
doAvn, and pegged him doAAm, till his manners 
should be of the pattern-book. Hezekiah went 
on to tell, in Avords too long to ansAver the helm 
of such a plain sailor as I am, how the SAveep of 
hundreds of miles of sand had come up from the 
Avest and south- Avest in only tAvo hundred and fifty 
years. How it had first begun to floAV about the 
Scilly Islands, as mentioned by one Borlase, and 
came to the mouth of Hayle liiver, in Cornwall, 
in the early years of King Henry VIII. , and af- 
ter that blocked up Bude Haven, and sAvalloAved 
the ploughs in the arable land. Then at Llanant 
it came like a cloud over the moon one winter 
C 


OF SICER. 33 

night, and buried fiA’e-and-thirty houses with the 
people in them. 

An Act of Parliament aa’us passed — chapter the 
second of Philip and Mary — to keep it out of Gla- 
morganshire ; and good commissioners Avere ap- 
pointed, and a survey made along the coast, es- 
pecially of Kenfig. Nevertheless, the dash of sand 
Avas scarcely on their ink, Avhen, SAvanning, driv- 
ing, darkening the air, the storm swept on their 
survey. At the mouths of the TaAvey and Afan 
rivers the tAvo sailors’ chapels Avere buried, and 
then it sAvept up the great Roman road, a branch 
of the Julian Way, and smothered the pillars of 
Gordian, and sAvaUoAved the castle of Kenfig, Avhich 
stood by the side of the Avestern road ; and still 
iTishing eastAvard, took NeAA'ton village and NeAA’- 
ton old church beneath it. And so it went on 
for tAvo hundred years, coming up from the sea, 
no doubt, earned by the pei*ijetual gales, AAdiich 
alAA’ays are from the south and west, filling all the 
hollow places, changing all bright mossy pools into 
hills of yelloAv drought, and, like a great encamp- 
ment, dAvelling over miles and leagues of land. 
And like a camp it was in this, that it Avas ahvays 
striking tent. Six times in the last few years had 
the highest peak of sand — the general’s tent it 
might be called — been shifted miles a^:ay per- 
haps, and then come back tOAA ards Ogmij^’e ; and 
it Avas only the other day that, througl|PDme shift 
or SAvirl of Avind, a Avindmill, Avith its sails entire, 
had been laid bare near Candleston, of AAhich the 
last record AA^as in Court-rolls of a hundred and 
fifty years agone.* 

Noav all this, though Hezekiah said it, was true 
enough, I do believe, having heard things much 
to the same purpose from my own old grandfa- 
ther. The coroner listened with more patience 
than Ave had given him credit for, although he 
told us that Brother Perkins should haA'e reserved 
his learned speech for the second inquiry, Avhich 
AV'as to be about the deaths of the fiv^e young men ; 
for to him it appeared that this noble infant must 
lay the blame of his grievous loss not on the sand 
but upon the sea. Hezekiah replied, Avith great 
deference, that the cause in both cases was the 
same, for that the movement of sand Avent on un- 
der the sea even more than ashore, and hence the 
fatal gulfing of that ship, the Andahtsia, and the 
loss of his young lordship. 

The name he had given the ship surprised me ; 
and indeed I felt sure that it was quite Avrong ; 
and so I said immediately, without any Ioav con- 
sideration of Avhat might be mine OAvn interest. 
But the coroner Avould not hearken to me, being 
much impressed now AA'ith the leaniing and AA'is- 
dom of Hezekiah Perkins. And Avhen Hezekiah 
presented his card beginning Avith “horologist,” 
and ending Avith the “king and queen,’’ he might 
have had any verdict he liked, if he himself hiul 
been upon trial. 

Therefore, after calling in (for the sake of form) 
the two poor Avomen Avho found the dead baby 
among the sea-Aveed, and had seA'en-pence apiece 
for doing so, and Avho cried all the Avhile that they 
talked in Welsh (each haAung seen a dear baby 

* A clear and interesting account of this mighty 
sand-march may be found in a very learned paper by 
the Kev. H. H. Knight, B.D., formerly rector of Neath, 
Glamorgau; Avhich paper, entitled “An Account of 
NcAvton Nottage,” Avas reprinted at Tenby in 1853 from 
the “ Archffiologia Cambrensis.” Considerable moA^e- 
ments still occur, but of late years no very great ad- 
vance. 


34 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


like him not more than twenty years ago), we 
came in the most unanimous manner, under his 
lordship’s guidance, to the following excellent ver- 
dict : 

“Found drowned on Pool Tavan rocks, a man- 
child, supposed to be two years old ; believed to 
be a young nobleman, from marks on pinafore, 
and high bearing ; but cast away by a storm of 
sand from the ship Andalusia^ of Appledore.” 

Now I was as certain as sure could be that 
half of this verdict must be wrong, especially as 
to the name of the ship, and her belonging to Ap- 
pledore, which never yet owned any craft of more 
than 200 tons at the utmost — a snow or a brig, 
at the very outside. Nevertheless, I was compel- 
led to give in to the rest of them, and most of all 
to the coroner. Only I said, as many who are 
still alive can remember, and are not afraid to 
speak to, and especially my good friend Mr. Lew- 
is, “The ship was not called the Andalusia; the 
ship was never from Appledore ; neither was she 
of British build. As an old seaman, it is likely 
that I know more of the build of a ship than a 
lubber of a clock-maker, or rather a clock-maul- 
er.” 

But here I was put down sternly ; and hearing 
of verdicts a great deal worse, without any mis- 
chief conm of them, I was even content to sign 
the return^ and have a new pipe of bird’s-eye. 
And a bird’s-eye view this gave me of them at the 
second inquest, wherein I had to give evidence ; 
and was not of the jury. They wanted to cross- 
examine me, because I had been unpleasant ; but 
of that they got the worst, and dropped it. But 
as all our jurymen declared upon their oaths that 
the little nobleman was drowned in a stonn of 
sand, so they found that the five young rabbiters 
came to their end by smothering through a vio- 
lent sea-tempest. 

In the days of my youth such judgments, per- 
haps, would have tried my patience ; but now I 
knew that nothing ever follows truth and justice. 
People talk of both these things, and perhaps the 
idea does them good. 

Be that according to God’s will — as we always 
say when deprived of our oa\ti — at any rate, I am 
bound to tell one little thing more about each 
quest. And first about the first one. Why was 
I so vexed and angry mth my foolish tongue when 
Hezekiah began to speak ? Only because I knew 
fiUl well that it would lead to the very thing 
which it was my one desire to avoid, if possible. 
And this — as you may guess at once, after what 
happened on the stairs — was the rude fetching 
and exposing of the dear little maid among so 
many common fellows ; and to show her the baby- 
corpse. I feared that it must come to this, through 
my own thoughtless blabbing about her “ickle 
bother ” in the presence of Hezekiah : and if ever 
man had a hollow, dry heart from over-pumping 
of the tongue, I had it when Hezekiah came in, 
bearing, in a depth of fright and wonder, and con- 
tempt of him, my own delicate Bardie. I had set 
my back against the door, and sworn that they 
should not have her ; but crafty Perkins had sto- 
len out by another door while they humored me. 
Now my pretty dear was awed, and hushed be- 
yond all crying, and even could not move her 
feet, as children do, in a kicking way. Tiying to 
get as far as possible from Hezekiah’s nasty face 
— which gave me a great deal of pleasure, be- 
cause she had never done the like to me, unless 


I were full of tobacco — she stretched aw'ay from 
his greasy shoulder, and then she saw old Davy. 
Her hands came towards me, so did her eyes, and 
so did her lips, with great promise of kisses, such 
as her father and mother perhaps might have been 
mightily tempted by ; but nobody now to care for 
them. 

When Hezekiah, pretending to dandle this little 
lady in a jaunty way, like one of his filthy low 
children, was taking her towards that poor little 
corpse, so white in the light of the window ; and 
when he made her look at it, and said, “Is that 
ickle brother, my dear ?” and she all the time was 
shivering and turning her eyes away from it, and 
seeking for me to help her, I got rid of the two 
men who held me, nor hearkened I the coroner, 
but gave Hezekiah such a grip as he felt for three 
months afterwards, and, with Bardie on my left 
arm, kept my right fist ready. 

Nobody cared to encounter this ; for I had hap- 
pened to tell the neighborhood how the French- 
man’s head came off at the time when he tried to 
injure me ; and so I bore off the little one, till her 
chest began to pant and her tears ran down my 
beard. And then as I spoke softly to her and be- 
gan to raise her fingers, and to tickle her. frizzy 
hair, all of a sudden she flung both arms around 
my neck, and loved me. 

“Old Davy, poor ickle Bardie not go to ’e back 
pit-hole yet.” 

“No, my dear, not for ever so long. Not for 
eighty years at least. And then go straight to 
heaven ! ” 

“Ickle bother go to ’e back pit-hole ? Does ’a 
think. Old Davy ?” 

This was more than I could tell, though inclined 
to think it very likely. However, before I could 
answer, some of the jury followed us, and behind 
them the coroner himself. They insisted on put- 
ting a question to her ; and so long as they did not 
force her again to look at that w'hich terrified her, 
I had no right to prevent them. They all desired 
to speak at once ; but the clerk of the coroner took 
the lead, having as yet performed no work towards 
the earning of his salt or rum. An innocent old 
man he was, but very free from cleanliness ; and 
the child being most particular of all ever born 
in that matter, turned away with her mite of a 
nose in a manner indescribable. 

He was much too dull to notice this ; but put- 
ting back his spectacles, and stooping over her 
hair and ears (which -was all she left outside of my 
beard), he wanted to show his skill in babies, of 
which he boasted himself a grandfather. And so 
he began to whisper — 

“My little dear, you will be a good child — a 
very good child; w'on’t you, now? I can see it 
in your little face. Such a pretty dear you are ! 
And all good children always do as they are told, 
you know. We want you to tell us a little thing 
about pretty little brother. I have got a little girl 
at home not so old as you are, and she is so clev- 
er, you can’t think. Every thing she does and 
says ; every thing we tell her — ” 

“ Take ay ay ’e nasty old man. Take ayay ’e 
bad old man ; or I never tis ’a again. Old Davy.” 

She flashed up at me with such wrath, that I 
was forced to obey her ; while the old man put 
do^vn his goggles to stare, and all the jury laughed 
at him. And I was running away with her, for 
her little breath was hot and short ; when the cor- 
oner called out, “ Stop, man ! I know how to man- 


THE JilAID OE SKER. 


35 


age her.” At this I was bound to pull up, and set ' 
her to look at him, as he ordered me. She sat 
well up in my arms, and looked, and seemed not 
to think very highly of him. 

“Look at his honor, my dear,” said I, stroking 
her hair, as I knew she liked ; “look at his lord- 
ship, you pretty duck.” 

“Little child,” began his honor, “you have a 
duty to perform, even at this early period of your 
very beginning life. We are most desirous to 
spare your feelings, having strong reasons to be- 
lieve that you are sprung from a noble family. 
But in our duty towards your lineage, we must 
require you, my little dear — w'e must request you, 
my little lady — to assist us in our endeavor to iden- 
tify—” 

“I can say ‘dentify,’ Old Davy; tell ’e silly 
old man to say ‘ dentify’ same as I does.” 

She spread her little open hand with such con- 
tempt at the coroner, that even his own clerk 
could not keep his countenance from laughing. 
And his honor, having good reason to think her 
a baby of high position before, was now so cer- 
tain that he said, “God bless her! what a child 
she is! Take her away, old mariner. She is 
used to high society.” 


CHAPTER XV. 

A VERDICT ON THE JURY. 

As to the second inquest, I promised (as you 
may remember) to tell something also. But in 
serious truth, if I saw a chance to escape it, with- 
out skulking watch, I would liefer be anywhere 
else almost — except in a Erench prison. 

After recording Avith much satisfaction om* ver- 
dict upon Bardie’s brother — which nearly all of 
us were certain that the little boy must be — the 
coroner bade his second jury to view the bodies 
of the five young men. These were in the great 
dark hall, set as in a place of honor, and poor 
young Watkin left to mind them ; and very pale 
and ill he looked. 

“ If you please, sir, they are all stretched out, 
and I am not afraid of them ;” he said to me, as 
I went to console him: “father can not look at 
them ; but mother and I are not afraid. They 
are placed according to their ages, face after face, 
and foot after foot. And I am sure they never 
meant it, sir, when they used to kick me out of 
bed : and oftentimes I deserved it.” 

I thought much less of those five great coi-pses 
than of the gentle and loving boy who had girt up 
his heart to conquer fear, and who tried to think 
evil of himself for the comforting of his brethren’s 
souls. 

But he nearly broke down when the jurymen 
came ; and I begged them to spare him the pain 
and trial of going before the coroner to identify 
the bodies, which I could do, as w'ell as any one ; 
and to this they all agreed. 

When we returned to the long oak parlor, we 
found that the dignity of the house was main- 
tained in a way which astonished us. There had 
been some little refreshment before, especially for 
his honor ; but now all these things were cleared 
away, and the table was spread with a noble sight 
of glasses, and bottles, and silver implements, fit 
for the mess of an admiral. Neither were these 
meant for show alone, inasmuch as to make them 


useful, there was water cold and water hot, also 
lemons, and sugar, and nutmeg, and a great black 
George of ale, a row of pipes, and a jar of tobac- 
co, also a middling keg of Hollands, and an anker 
of old rum. At first we could hardly believe our 
eyes, knowing how poor and desolate, both of food 
and furniture, that old grange had always been. 
But presently one of us happened to guess, and 
Hezekiah confirmed it, that the lord of the man- 
or had taken compassion upon his afflicted ten- 
ant, and had furnished these things in a hand- 
some manner, from his own great house some 
five miles distant. But, in spite of the custom of 
the country, I was for keeping away from it all 
upon so sad an occasion. And one or two more 
were for holding aloof, although they cast sheep's- 
eyes at it. 

However, the cromier rubbed his hands, and 
sat down at the top of the table, and then the 
foreman sat down also, and said that, being so 
much upset, he was half inclined to take a glass 
of something w'eak. He was recommended, if 
he felt like that, whatever he did, not to take it 
weak, but to think of his wife and family ; for 
who could say what such a turn might lead to, if 
neglected ? And this reflection had such iveight, 
that instead of mixing for himself, he allowed a 
friend to mix for him. 

The crowner said, “Now, gentlemen, in the 
presence of such fearful trouble and heavy blows 
from Providence, no man has anj’^ right to give 
the rein to his own feelings. It is his duty, as a 
man, to control his sad emotions; and his duty, 
as a family-man, to attend to his constitution.” 
With these words he lit a pipe, and poured him- 
self a glass of Hollands, looking sadly upward, 
so that the measure quite escaped him. “Gen- 
tlemen of the juiy,” he continued, with such au- 
thority, that the jury were almost ready to think 
that they must have begun to be gentlemen — till 
they looked at one another; “gentlemen of the 
jury, life is short, and trouble long. I have sat 
upon hundreds of poor people who destroyed 
themselves by nothing else than want of self-pres- 
eiwation. I have made it my duty officially to 
discourage such short-comings. Mr. Eoreman, 
be ^ood enough to send the lemons this way; 
and when ready for business, say so.” 

Crowner Bowles was now as pleasant as he 
had been grumpy in the morning ; and, finding 
him so, we did our best to keep him in that hu- 
mor. Neither was it long before he expressed 
himself in terms which w^ere an honor alike to 
his heart and head. Eor he told ufe, in so many 
words — though I was not of the jury now, never- 
theless I held on to them, and having been fore- 
man just now, could not be, for a matter of form, 
when it came to glasses, cold-shouldered — worthy 
Crowner Bowles, I say, before he had stiived many 
slices of lemon, told us all, in so many words 
— and the more, the more we were pleased with 
them — that for a thoroughly honest, intelligent, 
and hard-working juiy, commend him henceforth, 
and as long as he held his majesty’s sign-manual, 
to a jury made of Newton parish and of Kenfig 
burgesses ! 

We drank his health with bumpers round, every 
man upon his legs, and then three cheers for his 
lordship ; until his clerk, who was rather sober, 
put his thumb up, and said “Stop.” And from 
the way he went on jerking with his narrow 
shoulders, we saw that he would recall our 


36 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


> 


thoughts to the hall that had no door to it. Then 
following his looks, we saw the distance of the 
silence. 

This took us all aback so much, that we had 
in the witnesses — of whom I, the head-man, was 
there already — and for fear of their being nen- 
ous, and so confusing testimony, gave them a cor- 
dial after swearing. Every body knew exactly 
what each one of them had to say. But it would 
have been very hard, and might have done them 
an injury, not to let them say it. 

The coroner, having found no need to charge 
(except his rummer), left his men for a little 
while to deliberate their verdict. 

“Visitation of God, of course it must be,” 
Stradling Williams began to say; “\dsitation of 
Almighty God.” 

Some of the jury took the pipes out of their 
mouths and nodded at him, while they blew a 
ring of smoke ; and others nodded without that 
trouble ; and all seemed going pleasantly. When 
suddenly a little fellow, whose name was Simon 
Edwards, a brother of the primitive Christians, 
or at least of their minister, being made pugna- 
cious by ardent spirits, rose, and, bolding the arm 
of his chair, thus delivered his sentiments ; speak- 
ing, of course, in his native tongue : 

“ Head-jman, and brothers of the jury, I-I-I do 
altogether refuse and deny the goodness of that 
judgment. The only judgment I will certify is 
in the lining of my hat — ‘Judgment of Almigh- 
ty God for rabbiting on the Sabbath-day.’ Heze- 
kiah Perkins, I call upon thee, as a brother Chris- 
tian, and a consistent member, to stand on the 
side of the Lord with me.” 

His power of standing on any side w’as by this 
time, however, exhausted ; and falling into his 
chair, he turned pale, and shrunk to the very back 
of it. For over against him stood Evan Thom- 
as, whom none of us had seen till then. It was a 
sight that sobered us, and made the blood fly from 
our cheeks, and forced us to set down the glass. 

The face of Black Evan was ashy gray, and 
his heavy square 'shoulders slouching forward, 
and his hands hung by his side. Only his deep 
eyes shone without moving ; and Simon backed 
farther and farther away, without any power to 
gaze elsewhere. Then Evan Thomas turned from 
him, without any word, or so much as a sigh, 
and looked at us all ; and no man had power to 
meet the cold quietness of his regard. And not 
having thought much about his troubles, we had 
nothing at all to say to him. 

After waiting for us to begin, and finding no 
one ready, he spake a few words to us all in 
Welsh, and the tone of his voice seemed differ- 
ent. 

“Noble gentlemen, I am proud that my poor 
hospitality pleases you. Make the most of the 
time God gives; for six of you have seen the 
white horse.” With these words he bowed his 
head, and left us shuddering in the midst of all 
the heat of cordials. For it is known that men, 
when prostrate by a crushing act of God, have 
the power to foresee the death of other men that 
feel no pity for them. And to see the white 
horse on the night of new mooq, even through 
closed eyehds, and without sense of vision, is the 
surest sign of all sure signs of death 'v\'ithin the 
twelvemonth. Therefore all the jury sat glower- 
ing at one another, each man ready to make oath 
that Evan’s eyes were not on him. 


Now there are things beyond our knowledge, 
or right of explanation, in which I have a pure, 
true faith — for instance, the “Flying Dutchman,” 
whom I had twice beheld already, and whom no 
man may three times see, and then survive the 
twelvemonth ; in him, of course, I had true faith 
— for what can be clearer than eye-sight ? Many 
things, too, which brave seamen have beheld, and 
can declare ; but as for landsmen’s superstitions, 
I scarcely cared to laugh at them. Howevei-, 
strange enough it is, all Black Evan said came 
true. Simon Edwards first went oflF, by falling 
into Newton Wayn, after keeping it up too late 
at chapel. And after him the other five, all 
within the twelvemonth ; some in their beds, and 
some abroad, but all gone to their last account. 
And heartily glad I was, for my part (as one after 
other they dropped off thus), not to have served 
on that second jury; and heartily sony I was 
also that Brother Hezekiah had not taken the 
luck to behold the white horse. 

Plain enough it will be now, to any one who 
knows our parts, that after what Evan Thomas 
said, and the way in which he withdrew from us, 
the only desire the jury had was to gratify him 
with their verdict, and to hasten home, erb the 
dark should fall, and no man to walk by himself 
on the road. Accordingly, without more tobac- 
co, though some took another glass for strength, 
they returned the follomng verdict : 

“ We find that these five young and excellent 
men ” — here came their names, with a Mister to 
each — “ were lost on their way to a place of wor- 
ship, by means of a violent storm of the sea. 
And the jury can not separate without oft’ering 
their heart-felt pity ’’ — the crowmer’s clerk changed 
it to “ sympathy ” — “ to their bereaved and affec- 
tionate parents. God save the king!” 

After this, they all went home ; and it took 
good legs to keep up with them along “Priest 
Lane,” in some of the darker places, and espe- 
cially where a wdiite cow came, and looked over 
a gate for the milking-time. I could not helj) 
laughing, although myself not wholly free fi om 
uneasiness ; and I grieved that my joints were 
not as nimble as those of Simon Edwards. 

But while we frightened one another, like so 
many children, each perceiving something which 
was worse to those who perceived it not, Heze- 
kiah carried on as if we were a set of fools, and 
nothing ever could frighten him. To me, who 
was the bravest of them, this was very irksome ; 
but it happened that I knew Brother Perkins’s 
pet belief. His \rife had lived at Longlands 
once, a lonely house between Nottage and New- 
ton, on the rise of a little hiU. And they say that 
on one night of the year, all the funerals that 
must pass from Nottage to Newton in the twelve- 
month go by in succession there, with all tlie 
mourners after them, and the very hymns that 
they will sing passing softly on the wind. 

So as we were just by Longlands in the eai^y 
beat of the stars, I managed to be at Perkif^’s 
side. Then suddenly, as a bat went by. I caught 
the arm of Hezekiah, and drew back, andshivered. 

“ Name of God, Davy ! what’s the matter ?” 

“Can’t you see them, you blind-eye ? There 
they go ! there they go 1 All the coffins witli 
palls to them. And the names upon the head- 
plates: Evan, and Thomas, and Hopkin, ancl 
Rees, and Jenkin, with only four bearers ! And 
the psalm they sing is the thirty-fourth.” 



THE IMAID 

“So it is! I can see them all. The Lord have 
mercy npon my soul! Oh, Da'S’y, Davy! don’t 
leave me here!” 

He could not walk another step, but staggered 
against the wall and groaned, and hid his face in- 
side his hat. We got him to Newton with much 
ado ; but as for going to Bridgend that night, he 
found that our church-clock must be seen to, the 
very first thing in the morning. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

TRUTH LIES SOMETIMES IN A WELL. 

The following morning it happened so that I 
did not get up over-early; not, I assure you, 
from any undue enjoyment of the grand crown- 
er’s quests, but partly because the tide for fish- 
ing would not suit till the afternoon, and part- 
ly because I had worked both hard and long at 
the “Jolly Sailors:” and this in fulfillment of a 
pledge from which there was no escaping, when 
I promised, on the night before, to grease and tune 
my violin, and display the true practice of horn- 
pipe, Rash enough this promise was, on account 
of my dear wife’s memory, and the things bad 
people would say of it. And but for the sad un- 
easiness created by Black Evan’s prophecy, and 
the need of lively company to prevent my seeing 
white horses, the fear of the parish might have 
prevailed with me over all fear of the landlord. 
Hence I began rather shyly ; but when my first 
tune had been received with hearty applause from 
all the room, how could I allow myself to be clap- 
ped on the back, and then be lazy ? 

Now Bunny was tugging and clamoring for her 
bit of breakfast almost before I was wide awake, 
when the latch of my cottage-door was lifted, 
and in walked Hezekiah. Almost any other man 
would have been more welcome ; for though he 
had not spoken of it on the day before, he was 
sure to annoy me, sooner or later, about the fish 
he had forced me to sell him. When such a 
matter is over and done with, surely no man, in 
common sense, has a right to re-open the ques- 
tion. The time to find fault with a fish, in all 
conscience, is before you have bought him. Hav- 
ing once done that, he is now your oivn ; and to 
blame him is to find fault with the mercy which 
gave you the money to buy him. A foolish thing 
as well ; because you are running down your own 
property, and spoiling your relish for him. Con- 
duct like this is below contempt ; even more un- 
graceful and ungracious than that of a man who 
spreads abroad the faults of his own wife. 

Hezekiah, however, on this occasion, was not 
quite so bad as that. His errand, according to 
his lights, "was of a friendly nature ; for he pried 
all round my little room with an extremely saga- 
cious leer, and then gazed at me with a dark cock 
of his eye, and glanced askance at Bunny, and 
managed to wink, like the commodore’s ship be- 
ginning to light poop-lanterns. 

“Speak out like a man,” I said; “is your 
wife confined with a prophecy, or what is the mat- 
ter with you ?” 

“Hepzibah, the prophetess, is well; and her 
prophecies are abiding the fullness of their fulfill- 
ment. I would speak with you on a very secret 
and important matter, concerning also her reveal- 
ings. ” 


OF SKER. 37 

“Then I will send the child away. Here, 
Bunny, run and ask Mother Jones — ” 

“That will not do; I will not speak here. 
Walls are thin, and Avails have ears. Come down 
to the Avell with me.” 

“ But the Avell is a lump of walls,” I answered, 
“ and children almost always near it.” 

“There are no children. I have been down. 
The well is dry, and the children know it. No 
better place can be for speaking.” 

Looking doAVTi across the church -yard, I per- 
ceived that he was right ; and so I left Bunny to 
dwell on her breakfast, and went Avith Hezekiah. 
Among the sand-hills there Avas no one ; for fright 
had fallen on every body, since the sands began 
to walk, as the general folk now declared of them. 
And nobody looked at a sand-hill noAv with any oth- 
er feeling than towards his grave and tombstone. 

Even my heart Avas a little heavy, in spite of 
all scientific points, Avhen I straddled over the 
stone that led into the sandy passage. After me 
came Hezekiah, groping Avith his gi’imy hands, 
and calling out for me to stop, until he could haA’e 
hold of me. HoAvever, I left him to foUow the 
darkness, in the Avake of his OAvn ideas. 

A better place for secret talk, in a parish full 
of echoes, scarcely could be found, perhaps, ex- 
cept the old “Red House” on the shore. So I 
Avaited for Perkins to unfold, as soon as Ave stood 
on the bottom step, A\'ith three or four yards of 
quicksand, but no dip for a pitcher beloAV us. 
The children knew that the Avell Avas dry, and 
some of them, perhaps, Avere gone to try to learn 
their letters. 

What then was my disappointment, as it grad- 
ually came out, that, so far from telling me a se- 
cret, Hezekiah’s object Avas to deprive me of my 
oAvn ! HoAveA^er, if I say Avhat happened, nobody 
can grumble. 

In the first place, he manoeuvred much to get 
the Aveather-gage of me, by setting me so that the 
light that slanted doAvn the gray slope should 
gather itself upon my honest countenance. I, 
for my part, as a man unAvarned how far it might 
become a duty to avoid excess of accuracy, took 
the liberty to prefer a less conspicuous position ; 
not that I had any lies to tell, but might be glad 
to hear some. Therefore, I stuck to a pleasant 
seat upon a very nice sandy slab, Avhere the light 
so shot and wavered, that a badly inquisitive man 
might seek in vain for a flush or a flickering of 
the most delicate light of all — that AAiiich is cast 
by the heart or mind of man into the face of man. 

Upon the whole, it could scarcely be said, at 
least as concerned Hezekiah, that truth Avas to be 
found, just now, at the bottom of this well. 

“Dear Brother Dyo,” he gently began, with 
the most brotherly voice and manner, “it has 
pleased the Lord, Avho does all things aright, to 
send me to you for counsel now, as Avell as for 
comfort, beloA-ed Dyo.” 

“All that I haA'e is at your service,” I an- 
swered very heartily; looking for something 
about his Avife, and ahvays enjoying a thing of 
that kind among those righteous fellows ; and Ave 
heard that Hepzibah had taken up, under Avord 
of the Lord, with the Shakers.* 


* These fine fellows are talked of now as if we had 
found a novelty. They came through South Wales 
on a “starring” tour thirty years agoue, and they 
seemed to be on their last legs then. Under the moon 
is there any thing ncAV ? 


38 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


“ Brother David, I have wrestled hard in the 
night-season about that which has come to pass. 
;My wife — ” 

“ To be sure,” I said. 

‘ ‘ My wife, who was certified seven times as a 
vessel for the Spirit — ” 

“ To be sure — they always are ; and then they 
gad about so — ” 

“Brother, you understand me not; or desire 
to think evil. Hepzibah, since her last confine- 
ment, is a vessel for the Spirit to the square of 
what she was. Seven times seven is forty-nine, 
and requires no certificate. But these are carnal 
calculations. ” 

All this took me beyond my depth, and I an- 
swered him rather crustily ; and my word ended 
with both those letters which, as I learned from 
my Catechism, belong to us by baptism. 

‘ ‘ Unholy David, shun evil words. Pray with- 
out ceasing, but swear not at all. In a vision of 
the night Hepzibah hath seen terrible things of 
thee.” 

“Why, you never went home last night, Heze- 
kiah. How can you tell what your wife dreamed ?” 

“I said not when it came to pass. And how 
could I speak of it yesterday before that loose as- 
sembly ?” 

“Well, well, out with it! What w'as this 
wonderful vision?” 

“Hepzibah, the prophetess, being in a trance, 
and deeply inspired of the Lord, beheld the fol- 
lowing vision ; A long lonely sea was spread be- 
•fore her, shining in the moonlight smoothly, and 
H^fiaces strewed with gold. A man was stand- 
ing on a low black rock, casting a line, and drawl- 
ing great fish out almost every time he cast. 
Then there arose from out the water a dear lit- 
tle child all dressed in white, canying with both 
hands her cradle, and just like our little maiden, 
^Martha — ” 

“Like your dirty Martha, indeed!” I w'as at 
the very point of saying, but snapped my lips, 
and saved myself. 

‘ ‘ This small damsel approached the fisherman, 
and presented her cradle to him, with a very trust- 
ful smile. Then he said, ‘ Is it gold ?’ And she 
said, ‘ No, it is only a white lily. ’ Upon which 
he shouted, ‘ Be off" with you ! ’ And the child 
fell into a desolate hole, and groped about vainly 
for her cradle. Then all the light faded out of 
the sea, and the waves and the rocks began moan- 
ing, and the fisheiinan fell on his knees, and 
sought in vain for the cradle. And while he w^as 
moaning, came Satan himself, bearing the cradle 
red-hot and crackling ; and he seized the poor 
man by his blue w'oollen smock, and laid him in 
the cradle, and rocked it, till his shrieks awoke 
Hepzibah. -And Hepzibah is certain that you 
are the man.” 

To hear all this in that sudden manner quite 
took my breath away for a minute, so that I fell 
back and knocked my head, purely innocent as I 
was. But presently I began to hope that the 
prophetess might be wrong this time; and the 
more so because that vile trance of hers might 
have come from excessive enjoyment of those 
good fish of mine. And it grew upon me more 
and more, the more I disliked her prediction 
about me, that if she had such inspiration, scarce- 
ly would she have sent Hezekiah to buy her sup- 
per from my four-legged table. Therefore I spoke 
without much loss of courage. 


“Brother Hezekiah, there is something wrong 
with Hepzibah. Send her, I pray you, to Dr. 
Ap-Yollup before she prophesies any thing more. 
No blue woollen smock have I w'orn this summer, 
but a canvas jacket only, and more often a striped 
jersey. It is Sandy Macraw she has seen in her 
dream, with the devil both roasting and rocking 
him. Glory be to the Lord for it !” 

“ Gloiy be to Him, Dyo, whichever of you two 
it was ! I hope that it may have been Sandy. 
But Hepzibah is always accurate, even among 
fishermen.” 

“Even fishermen,” I answered (being a little 
touched with wrath), “ know the folk that under- 
stand them, and the folk that can not. Even 
fishermen have their right, especially when re- 
duced to it, not to be blasphemed in that way, 
even by a prophetess.” 

“Dyo, you are hot again. What makes you 
go on so ? A friend’s advice is such a thing, that 
I nearly always take it ; unless I find big obsta- 
cles. Dyo, now be advised by me.” 

“ That depends on how I like it,” was the best 
thing I could say. 

“David Llewellyn, the only chance to save 
thy sinful soul is this : Open thine heart to the 
chosen one, to the favored of the Lord. Confess 
to Hepzibah the things that befell thee, and how 
the tempter prevailed with thee. Especially bring 
forth, my brother, the accursed thing thou hast 
hid in thy tent, the wedge of gold, and the shekels 
of silver, and the Babylonish garment. Thou 
hast stolen, and dissembled also ; and put it even 
among thine own stuff. Cast it from thee, de- 
liver it up, lay it before the ark of the Lord, and 
Hepzibah shall fall down and pray, lest thou be 
consumed and burnt with fire, like the son of 
Carmi the son of Zabdi, and covered over with a 
great heap of stones, even such as this is.” 

My wrath at this foul accusation, and daring 
attempt to frighten me, was kindled so that I 
could not speak ; and if this had happened in the 
open air, I should have been certain to knock him 
down. How'ever, I began to think, for Perkins 
was a litigious fellow ; and how'ever strict a man’s 
conduct is, he does not want his affairs all ex- 
posed. Therefore I kept ray knit knuckles at 
home, but justly felt strong indignation. Perkins 
thought he had terrified me, for perhaps in that 
bad light I looked pale ; and so he began to tri- 
umph upon me, which needs, as every body knows, 
a better man than Hezekiah. ■ 

“Come, come. Brother Dyo,” he said, in a 
voice quite different from the chapel -scriptural 
style he had used; “you see, we know all about 
it. Two dear children come ashore, one dead, 
and the other not dead. You contrive to receive 
them both, with your accustomed poaching skill. 
For every body says that you are always to be 
found everywhere, except in your chapel, on Sab- 
bath-day. Now, David, what do our good peo- 
ple, having families of their own, find upon these 
children ? Not so much as a chain or locket, or 
even a gold pin. I am a jeweller, and I know 
that children of high position always have some 
trinket on them, when their mothers love them. 
A child with a coronet, and no gold ! David, this 
is wrong of wrong. And worse than this, you 
conceal the truth, even from me, your ancient 
friend. There must be a great deal to be made, 
either from those w'ho would hold them in trust, 
or from those in wdiose way they stood. For the 


THE MAID OF SKEll. 


family died out, very likely, in all male inherit- 
ance. Think what we might make of it, by act- 
ing under my direction. And you shall have 
half of it all, Old Davy by relieving your mind, 
and behaving in a sensible and religious manner.” 

This came home to my sense of experience 
more than all Hepzibah’s divine predictions or 
productions. At the same time, I saw that Heze- 
kiah was all abroad in the dark, and groping right 
and left after the bodily truth. And what call 
had he to cry shares with me, because he had 
more reputation, and a higher conceit of himself, 
of course? But it crossed my mind that this 
nasty fellow, being perhaps in front of me in some 
little tricks of machinery, might be useful after- 
wards in getting at the real truth, which often 
kept me awake at night. Only I was quite re- 
solved not to encourage roguery by letting him 
into partnership. Perceiving my depth of con- 
sideration — for it suited my purpose to hear him 
out, and learn how much he suspected — it was 
natural that he should try again to impress me 
yet farther by boasting. 

“Dyo, I have been at a Latin school for as 
much aS three months together. My father gave 
me a rare education, and I made the most of it. 
None of your ignorance for me ! I am up to the 
moods and the tenses, the accidents and the pros- 
elytes. The present I know, and the future I 
know ; the Peter-perfection, and the hay-roost — ” 

“I call that stuff gibberish. Talk plain En- 
glish if you can.” ^ 

“Understand you, then, so much as this? I 
speak in a carnal manner now. I speak as a 
fool unto a fool. I am up to snuff, good Dyo ; 
I can tell the time of day. ” 

“Then you are a devilish deal cleverer than 
any of your clocks are. But now thou speakest 
no parables, brother. Now I know what thou 
meanest. Thou art up for robbing somebody; 
and if I w'ould shun Satan’s clutches, I must come 
and help thee.” 

“Dyo, this is inconsistent, nor can I call it 
brotherly. We wish to do good, both you and 
I, and to raise a little money for works of love ; 
you, no doubt, with a good end in view, to con- 
sole you for much tribulation ; and I with a sin- 
gle eye to the advancement of the cause which 
I have at heart, to save many brands from the 
burning. Then, Dyo, why not act together? 
Why not help one another, dear brother ; thou 
with the good luck, and I with the brains ?” 

He laid bis hand on my shoulder kindly, wnth 
a yearning of his bowels towards me, such as true 
Non-conformists feel at the scent of any money. 
I found myself also a little moved, not being cer- 
tain how far it was wise to throw him altogether 
over. 

But suddenly, by what means I know not, ex- 
cept the will of Providence, there arose before me 
that foul wrong which the Nicodemus-Christian 
had committed against me some three years 
back. I had forborne to speak of it tiU now, 
wishing to give the man fair play. 

“Hezekiah, do you remember,”! asked, with 
much solemnity — “do you remember your twen- 
tieth wedding-day ?” 

“Davy, my brother, how many times — never 
mind talking about that now.” 

“You had a large company coming, and to 
whom did you give a special order to catch you 
a turbot at ten-pence a pound ?” 


39 

“Nay, nay, my dear friend Dyo ; shall I never 
get that thing out of your stupid head ?” ' 

“ You had known me for twenty years at least 
as the very best fisherman on the coast, and a 
man that could be relied upon. Yet you must 
go and give that order, not to a man of good 
Welsh blood — with ten Welshmen coming to 
dinner, mind — not to a man that was bred and 
born within five miles of your dirty house — not 
to a man that knew every cranny and crinkle 
of sand w'here the turbots lie, but to a tag-rag 
Scotchman ! It was spoken of upon every pebble 
from Britton Feriy to Aberthaw. David Llewel- 
lyn put under the feet of a fellow like Sandy 
Macraw — a beggarly, interloping, freckled, bitter 
weed of a Scotchman!” 

“Well, Davy, I have apologized. How many 
times more must I do it? It was not that I 
doubted your skill. You tell us of that so often, 
that none of us ever question it. It was simply 
because — I feared just then to come near your 
excellent and lamented — ” 

“No excuses, no excuses, Mr. Perkins, if you 
please ! You only make the matter worse. As if 
a man’s wife could come into the question, when 
it comes to business ! Yours may, because you 
don’t know how to manage her ; but mine — ” 

“ Well, now she is gone, Dyo ; and very good 
she was to you. And in your heart you know it. ” 
Whether he said this roguishly, or from the 
feeling which all of us have ■when it comes to one 
another, I declare I knew not then, and I know 
not even now. For I did not feel so sharply up 
to look to mine own interest, with these recollec- 
tions over me. I waited for him to begin again, 
but he seemed to stick back in the corner. And 
in spite of all that turbot business, at the moment 
I could not help holding out my hand to him. 

He took it, and shook it, with as much emotion 
as if he had truly been fond of my wife ; and I 
felt that nothing more must be said concerning 
that order to Sandy Macraw. It seemed to be 
veiy good reason, also, for getting out of that in- 
terview ; for I might say things to be sorry for, 
if I allowed myself to go on any more with my 
heart so open. Therefore I called, in my usual 
briskness, “Lo, the water is rising! The chil- 
dren must be at the naouth of the well. What 
will the good wife prophesy if she sees thee com- 
ing up the stairs with thy two feet soaking wet. 
Master Hezekiah ?” 


CIIAPTEE XVII. 

FOR A LITTLE CHANGE OF AIR. 

On the very next day, I received such a visit 
as never had come to my house before. For while 
I was trimming my hooks, ajid wondering how to 
get out of all this trouble with my conscience 
sound and my pocket improved, suddenly I heard 
a voice not to be found anywhere. 

“I ’ants to yalk, I tell ’a, Yatkin. Put me 
down derekkerly. I ’ants to see Old Davy.” 

“And Old Davy wants to see you, you beauty,” 
I cried, as she jumped like a little wild kid, and 
took all my house with a glance, and then me. 

“Does ’a know, I yikes this house, and I yikes 
’a, and I yikes Yatkin, and ickle Bunny, and ev- 
ely body ?” 

She pointed all round for every body, with all 
ten fingei\s spread every way. Then Watkin came 


40 


THE MAID OF SICER. 


after her, like her slave, with a foolish grin on his 
countenance, in spite of the undertaking business. 

“If you i)lease, sir, Mr. Llewellyn,” he said, 
“ we was forced to bring her over; she has been 
crying so dreadful, and shivering about the black 
pit-hole so. And when the black things came 
into the house, she was going clean out of her lit- 
tle mind, ever so many times almost. No use it 
was at all to tell her ever so much a yard they 
was. ‘I don’t yike back, and I ’on’t have back. 
Yite I yikes, and boo I yikes ; and my dear papa 
be so very angy, when I tells him all about it.’ 
She went on like that, and she did so cry, mother 
said she must change the air a bit.” 

All the time he was telling me this she watch- 
ed him, with her head on one side and her lips 
kept ready in the most comic manner, as much as 
to say, “Now you tell any stories at my expense, 
and you may look out.” But Watkin was truth 
itself, and she nodded, and said “Ness,” at the 
end of his speech. 

“And if you please, sir, Mr. Llewellyn, what- 
ever is a ‘ belung, ’ sir ? All the way she have been 
asking for ‘belung, belung, belung.’ And I can 
not tell for the life of me whatever is ‘belung.’ ” 

‘ ‘ Boy, never ask what is unbecoming, ” I re- 
plied, in a manner Avhich made him blush, ac- 
cording to my intention. For the word might 
be English, for all I knew, and have something 
of high life in it. However, I found, by-and-by, 
that it meant what she was able to call ‘ ‘ Ummi- 
bella,” when promoted a year in the dictionary. 

But now any body should only have seen her, 
who wanted a little rousing up. My cottage, of 
course, is not much to boast of, compared with 
castles, and so on ; nevertheless there is some- 
thing about it pleasant and good, like its owner. 
You might see ever so many houses, and think 
them larger, and grander, and so on, with more 
opportunity for sitting down, and less for knock- 
ing your head, perhaps ; and after all you would 
come back to mine. Not for the sake of the meat 
in the cupboard — because I seldom had any, and 
far inferior men had more ; but because — well, it 
does not matter. I never could make you under- 
stand, unless you came to see it. 

Only I felt that I had found a wonderful crea- 
ture to make me out, and enter almost into my own 
views (of which the world is not capable) every 
time I took this child up and down the staircase. 
She would have jumps, and she made me talk in 
a manner that quite surprised myself ; and such 
a fine feeling grew up between us, that it was a 
happy thing for the whole of us not to have Bun- 
ny in the way just then. Mother Jones was giv- 
ing her apple-party ; as she always did when the 
i*ed streaks came upon her “Early Margarets.” 
But I always think the White Juneating is a far 
superior apple : and I have a tree of it. My lit- 
tle garden is nothing grand, any more than the 
rest of my premises, or even myself, if it comes 
to that ; still you might go for a long day’s walk, 
and find very few indeed to beat it, unless you 
were contradictory. For ten doors at least, both 
west and east, this was admitted silently ; as was 
proved by their sending to me for a cabbage, an 
artichoke, or an onion, or any thing choice for a 
Sunday dinner. It may suit these very people 
now to shake their heads and to run me down, 
bnt they should not forget what I did for them, 
when it comes to pronouncing fair judgment. 

Poor Bardie appeared as full of bright spirit, 


and as brave as ever, and when she tumbled from 
jumping two steps, what did she do but climb 
back and jump three, which even Bunny was 
afraid to do. But I soon perceived that this was 
only a sort of a flash in the pan, as it were. The 
happy change from the gloom of Sker House, from 
the silent corners and creaking stairs, and long- 
faced people keeping watch, and howling every 
now and then — also the sight of me again (whom 
she looked upon as her chief protector), and the 
general air of tidiness belonging to my dwelling 
— these things called forth all at once the play 
and joyful spring of her nature. But when she 
began to get tired of this, and to long for a little 
coaxing, even the stupidest gaffer could see that 
she was not the child she had been. Her little 
face seemed pinched and pale, and prematurely 
grave and odd ; while in the gray eyes tears shone 
ready at any echo of thought to fall. Also her 
forehead, broad and white, which marked her so 
from common children, looked as if too much of 
puzzling and of wondering had been done there. 
Even the gloss of her rich brown poll was faded, 
with none to care for it ; while the dainty feet and 
hands, so sensitive as to a speck of dirt, were 
enough to bring the tears of pity into a careful 
mother’s eyes. 

“Gardy la! ’Ook ’e see, ’hot degustin’ naily 
pailies! And poor Bardie nuffin to kean ’em 
with ! ” 

While I was setting this grief to rest (for which 
she kissed me beautifully), many thoughts came 
through my mind about this little creature. She 
and I were of one accord upon so many impor- 
tant points ; and when she differed from me, per- 
haps she was in the right almost: which is a 
thing that I never knew happen in a whole 'vdllage 
of grown-up people. And by the time I had 
brushed her hair and tied up the bows of her frock 
afresh, and when she began to dance again, and 
to play every kind of trick with me, I said to my- 
self, “I must have this child. Whatever may 
come of it, I will risk — when the price of butcher’s 
meat comes down.” 

This I said in real earnest : but the price of 
butcher’s meat went up, and I never have known 
it come down again. 

While I was thinking, our Bunny came in, full 
of apples, raw and roasted, and of the things the 
children said. But at the very first sight of Bar- 
die, every thing else was gone from her. All the 
other children were fit only to make dirt-pies of. 
This confirmed and held me steadfast in the opin- 
ions which I had formed without any female as- 
sistance. 

In spite of all her own concerns (of which she 
was full enough, goodness knoAvs), Bunny came 
up, and pulled at her, by reason of something 
down her back which wanted putting to rights a 
little — a plait, or a tuck, or some manner of gear ; 
only I thought it a clever thing, and the little one 
approved of it. And then, our Bunny being in 
her best, these children took notice of one anoth- 
er, to settle which of them was nearer to the 
proper style of clothes. And each admired the 
other for any thing which she had not got herself. 

“ Come, you baby-chits,” said I, being pleased 
at their womanly ways, so early ; “all of us Avant 
some food, I think. Can Ave eat our dresses ?” 
The children, of course, understood me not ; nev- 
ertheless, what I said Avas sense. 

And if, to satisfy Avomankind — for Avhich I have 


THE MAID 

deepest regard and respect — I am forced to enter 
into questions higher than reason of men can climb 
— of washing, and ironing, and quilling, and go- 
phering, and setting up, and styles of transparent 
reefing, and all our other endeavors to fetch this 
child up to her station — the best thing I can do 
v/ill be to have Mother Jones in to ^^Tite it for me ; 
if only she can be forced to spell. 

However, that is beyond all hope ; and even I 
find it hard sometimes to be sure of the royal man- 
ner. Only I go by the Bible always for eveiy 
word that I can find, being taught (ever since I 
could read at all) that his majesty James I. con- 
firmed it. 

Now this is not at all the thing which I want- 
ed to put before you clearly ; because I grow like 
a tombstone often, only fit to make you laugh, 
when I stand on my right to be serious. My 
gi'eat desire is to tell you what I did, and how I 
did it, as to the managing of these children, even 
for a day or two, so as to keep them from crying, 
or scorching, or spoiling their clothes, or getting 
wet, or having too much victuals or too little. Of 
course I consulted that good Mother Jones five or 
six times every day ; and she never was weary of 
giving advice, though she said every time that it 
must be the last. And a lucky thing it was for 
me in all this responsibility to have turned enough 
of money, through skillful catch and sale of fish, 
to allow of my staying at home a little, and not 
only washing and mending of clothes, but treat- 
ing the whole of the household to the delicacies 
of the season. However, it is not my habit to 
think myself any thing wonderful ; that I leave 
to the rest of the world : and no doubt any good 
and clever man might have done a great part of 
what I did. Only if any thing should befall us, 
out of the reach of a sailor’s skill and the depth 
of Bunny’s experience. Mother Jones promised to 
come straight in, the very moment I knocked at 
the wall ; and her husband slept with such music- 
al sound that none could be lonely in any house 
near, and so did all of her ten children who could 
crack a lollipop. 

Upon the whole, we passed so smoothly over the 
first evening, with the two children as hard at play 
as if they were paid fifty pounds for it, that hav- 
ing some twenty-five shillings in hand after pay- 
ment of all creditors, and only ten weeks to my 
pension-day, y^ith my boat unknown to any body, 
and a very good prospect of fish running up from 
the Mumbles at the next full moon, I set the lit- 
tle one on my lap, after a good bout of laughing 
at her very qtieer ins and outs — for all things 
seemed to be all alive with, as well as to, her. 

“ Will you stay with me, my dear?” I said, as 
bold as lUng George and the Dragon; “would 
you like to live with Old Davy and Bunny, and 
have ever so many frocks washed, soon as ever he 
can buy them ?” For nothing satisfied her better 
than to see her one gown washed. She laid her 
head on one side a little, sc that I felt it hot to my 
bosom, being excused of my waistcoat; and I 
knew that she had overworked herself. 

“Ness,” she said, after thinking a bit. “Ness, 

I live with ’a. Old Da-vy, till my dear mamma 
come for me. Does 'e know, Old Davy, ’hot I 
thinks ?” 

“No, my pretty ; I only know that you are al- 
ways thinking. ” And so she was ; no doubt of 
it. 

“I tell ’a, Old Davy, ’hot I thinks. No — I 

> 


OF SEEK. 41 

can’t tell ’a ; only sompfin. ’Et me go. for more 
pay with Bunny.” 

“ No, my dear, just stop a minute. Bunny has 
got no breath left in her ; she is such a great fat 
Bunny. What you mean to say is, that you don’t 
know how papa and mamma could ever think of 
leaving you such a long, long time away.” 

She shook her curly pate as if each frizzle were 
a puzzle; and her sweet white forehead seemed a 
main-sail full of memoiy^; and then gay presence 
v/as in her eyes, and all the play which I had stop- 
ped broke upon her mind again. 

“Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor,” she began, with 
her beautiful fingers crawling, like white carnelian 
compasses, up the well-made buttons of my new 
smock- guernsey ; for though I had begged my hot 
waistcoat off, I never was lax of dress in her pres- 
ence as I would be in Bunny’s — or, in short, with 
any body except this little lady. I myself taught 
her that “tinker, tailor,” and had a right to have 
it done to me. And she finished it off with such 
emphasis upon button No. 7, which happened to 
be the last of them, “gentleman, plough-boy, fief,” 
looking straight into my eyes, and both of us laugh- 
ing at the fine idea that I could possibly be called 
a thief! But fearing to grow perhaps foolish 
about her, as she did these charming things to 
me, I carried her up to bed with Bunny, and sung 
them both away to sleep with a melancholy dirge 
of sea. 

Into whatever state of life it may please God 
to call me — though I fear there can not be many 
more at this age of writing — it always Avill be, as 
it always has been, my first principle and practice 
to do my very utmost (which is far less than it 
was, since the doctor stopped my hornpipes) to be 
pleasant and good company. And it is this lead- 
ing motive which has kept me from describing — 
as I might have done, to make you tingle and be 
angry afterwards — the state of Sker House, and 
of Evan Thomas, and Moxy his wife, and all their 
friends, about those five poor rabbiters. Also oth- 
er darkish matters, such as the plight of those ob- 
stinate black men when they came ashore at last, 
three together, and sometimes four, as if they had 
fought in the water. And, after all, w'hat luck 
they had in obtaining proper obsequies, inasmuch 
as, by order of Crowner Bowles, a great hole in 
the sand was dug in a little sheltered valley, and 
kept open till it was fiiirly thought that the sea 
must have finished with them ; and then, after be- 
ing carefully searched for any thing of value, they 
were rolled in all together, and kept down with 
stones, like the parish mangle, and covered with 
a handsome mound of sand. And not only this, 
but in spite of expense and the murmuring of the 
vestry, a board well tarred (to show their color) 
was set up in the midst of it, and their' number 
“35” chalked up; and so they were stopped of 
their mischief awhile, after shamefully robbing 
their poor importer. 

But if this was conducted handsomely, how 
much more so were the funerals of the five young 
white men ! The sense of the neighborhood, and 
the stir, and the presence of the coroner (who 
stopped a whole week for sea air and freshness, 
after seeing so many good things come in, and 
perceiving so many ways home that night that 
he made up his mind to none of them) ; also the 
feeling (which no one expressed, but all would 
have been disappointed of) that honest Black Evan, 
after knocking so many men down in both par- 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


42 

ishes and the extra-parochial manor, was design- 
ed, by this downright blow from above, to repent 
and to entertain every one ; and most of all, the 
fact that five of a highly respectable family were 
to be buried at once, to the saving of four future 
funerals, all of which must have been fine ones — 
these universal sympathies compelled the house 
and the people therein to exert themselves to the 
uttermost. 

Enough that it gave satisfaction, not univers- 
al, but general; and even that last is a hard 
thing to do in such great outbursts of sympathy. 
Though Moudlin Church is mere handy for Sker, 
and the noble Portreeve of Kenfig stood upon 
his right to it, still there were stronger reasons 
why Old Newton should have the preference. 
And Sker being outside either parish, Crowner 
Bowles, on receipt of a guinea, swore down the 
Portreeve to his very vamps. For Moxy Thomas 
was a Newton woman, and loved every scrape of 
a shoe there; and her uncle, the clerk, would 
have ended his days if the fees had gone over to 
Kenfig, Our parson, as well, was a very fine 
man, and a match for the whole of the service ; 
while the little fellow at Moudlin always coughed 
at a word of three syllables. 

There was one woman in our village v/ho was 
always right. She had been disappointed, three 
times over, in her early and middle days ; and 
the effect of this on her character was so lasting 
and so wholesome, that she never spoke without 
knowing something. When from this capital fe- 
male I heard that our church-yard had won the 
victory, and when I foresaw’ the demented con- 
dition of glory impending upon our village (not 
only from five magnificent palls, each with its 
proper attendance of black, and each with fine 
hymns and good howling, but yet more than that 
from the hot strength of triumph achieved over 
vaunting Kenfig), then it came into my mind to 
steal away with Bardie. 

A stern and sad sacrifice of myself, I assured 
myself that it was, and would be ; for few even 
of our oldest men could enjoy a funeral more 
than I did, with its sad reflections and junketings. 
And I might have been head-man of all that day, 
entitled not only to drop the mould, but to make 
the speech afterwards at the inn. 

But I abandoned all these rights, and braved 
once more the opinions of neighbors (which any 
man may do once too often) ; and when the ad- 
vance of sound came towards us, borne upon the 
western wind from the end of Newton Wayn, 
slowly hanging through the air, as if the air loved 
death of man — the solemn singing of the people 
who must go that way themselves, and told it in 
their melody; and when the device rock rung 
softly with the tolling bell, as well as with the 
rolling dirges, we slipped away at the back of it 
— that is to say, pretty Bardie and I. For Bunny 
was purer of Newton birth than to leave such a 
sight without tearing away. And desiring some 
little to hear all about it, I left her with three 
very good young women, smelling strongly of 
southern-wood, who were beginning to weep al- 
ready, and promised to tell me the whole of it. 

As we left this dismal business. Bardie danced 
along beside me, like an ostrich-feather blown at. 
In among the sand-hills soon I got her, where 
she could see nothing, and the thatch of rushes 
deadened every pulse of the funeral bell. And 
then a strange idea took me, all things being 


strange just now, that it might prove a rich wise 
thing to go for a quiet cruise with Bardie. In 
that boat, and on the waves, she might remember 
things recovered by the chance of semblance. 
Therefore, knowing that all living creatures five 
miles either way of us were sure to be in Newton 
Church-yard nearly all the afternoon, and then in 
the public-houses, I scrupled not to launch my 
boat and go to sea with the little one. For if 
we steered a proper course no funeral could see 
us. And so I shipped her gingerly. The glory 
of her mind was such that overboard she must 
have jumped, except for my Sunday neck-tie with 
a half-hitch knot around her. And the more I 
rowed the more she laughed, and looked at the 
sun with her eyes screwed up, and at the water 
with all wide open. “’Hare is’ a going. Old 
Davy ?” she said, slipping from under my Sunday 
splice, and coming to me wonderfully, and laying 
her tiny hands on mine, which beat me always, 
as she had found out; “is ’a going to my dear 
papa, and mamma, and ickle bother ?” 

“No, my pretty, you must wait for them to 
come. We are going to eatch some fish, and 
salt them, that they may keep with a very fine 
smell, till your dear papa brings your mamma 
and aU the family with him ; and then what a 
supper we will have!” 

“ ’111 ’a,” she said ; “and poor Bardie too ?” 

But the distance of the supper-time was a very 
sad disappointment to her, and her bright eyes 
filled with haze. And then she said, “Ness” 
very quietly, because she was growing to under- 
stand that she could not have her own way now. 

I lay on my oars and watched her carefully, while 
she was shaking her head and wondering, with 
her little white shoulders above the thwart, and 
her innocent and intelligent eyes full of the spread- 
ing sky and sea. It wms not often one had the 
chance, through the ever-flitting change, to learn ^ 
the calm and true expression of that poor young 
creature’s face. Even now I could not tell, ex- 
cept that her playful eyes W'ere lonely, and her 
tender lips were trembling, and a heartful of 
simple love could find no outlet, and lost itself. 
These little things, when thinking thus, or having 
thought flow through them, never ought to be 
disturbed, because their brains are tender. The 
unknown stream will soon run out, and then they 
are fit again for play, wdiich is the proper work 
of man. We open the world, and we close the 
world, with nothing more than this; and while 
our manhood is too grand (for a score and a half 
of years, perhaps), to take things but in earnest, 
the justice of our birth is on us — we are fortune’s 
plaything. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

PUBLIC APPKOBATION. 

If that child had no luck herself (except, of 
course, in meeting me), at any rate she never 
failed to bring me wondrous fortune. The air 
was smooth and sweet and soft, the sky had not 
a wrinkle, and the fickle sea was smihng, proud 
of pleasant manners. Directly I began to fish 
at the western tail of the Tuskar, scarcely a fish 
forbore me. Whiting-pollacks run in shoals, and 
a shoal I had of them ; and the way I split and 
dried them made us long for breakfast-time. 
And Bardie did enjoy them so. 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


43 


The more I dwelt with that little child, the 
more I grew wrapt up in her — her nature 
was so odd and loving, and her ways so pretty. 
Many men forego their goodness, so that they 
forget the nature of a little darling child. Oth- 
erwise, perhaps, we might not, if we kept our 
hearts aright, so despise the days of loving, and 
the time of holiness. Now this baby almost 
shamed me, and I might say Bunny too, when, 
having undressed her, and put the coarse rough j 
night-gOAvn on her, which came from Sker with 
the funerals, my grandchild called me from up 
stairs, to meet some great emergency. 

“ Granny, come up with the stick dreckly mo- 
ment, granny dear! Missy ’ont go into bed. 
Such a bad, wicked child she is.*’ 

I ran up stairs, and there was Bunny all on fire 
with noble wrath, and there stood Bardie sadly 
scraping the worm-eaten floor with her small 
w hite toes. 

“ I’senot ayicked shild,” she said ; “ I’se a yae 
good gal, I is ; I ’ont go to bed till I say my pay- 
ers to ’Mighty Goci, as my dear mamma make 
me. She be very angy with ’a. Bunny, ’hen she 
knows it.” 

Hereupon I gave Bunny a nice little smack, 
and had a great mind to let her taste the stick 
which she had invoked so eagerly. However, she 
roared enough without it, because her feelings 
were deeply hurt. Bardie also cried for com- 
pany, or, perhaps, at my serious aspect, until I 
put her dowm on her knees and bade her say her 
prayers, and have done wdth it. At the same 
time it struck me how stupid I was not to have 
asked about this before, inasmuch as even a child’s 
religion may reveal some of its history. 

She knelt as prettily as could be, with her head j 
thrown back, and her tiny palms laid together 
upon her breast, and thus she said her simple 
prayer : 

“Pay God bless dear papa, and mamma, and 
ickle bother. Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, ’ook 
upon a ickle shild, and make me a good gal. 
Amen.” 

Then she got up and kissed poor Bunny, and 
wms put into bed as good as gold, and slept hke 
a little dormouse till morning. 

Take it altogether now, we had a happy time 
of it. Every w'oman in Newton praised me for 
my kindness to the child ; and even the men who 
had too many could not stand against Bardie’s 
smile. They made up, indeed, some scandalous 
story, as might have been expected, about my re- 
lationship to the baby, and her sudden appearance 
so shortly after my poor wdfe’s death. However, 
by knocking three men down, I produced a more 
active grow^th of charity in our neighborhood. 

And very soon a thing came to pass, such as I 
never could have expected, and of a nature to lift 
me (even more than the free use of my pole), for 
a period of at least six months, above the reach 
of libel, from any one below the rank of a justice 
of the peace. This happened just as follows : 
One night the children w'ere snug in bed, and 
finding the evenings long, because the days w'ere 
shortening in so fast — which seemed to astonish 
every body — it came into my head to go no more 
than outside my own door, and into the “Jolly 
Sailors. ” For the autumn seemed to be coming 
on, and I like to express my opinions upon that 
point in society ; never being sure where I may 
be before ever another autumn. Moreover, the 


landlord was not a man to be neglected with im- 
punity. He never liked his customers to stay too 
long aw'ay from him, any more than our parson 
did ; and pleasant as he was w'hen pleased, and 
generous in the way of credit to people with any 
furniture, nothing was more sure to vex him than 
for a man, without excuse, to pretend to get on 
without him. 

Now when I came into the room where our lit- 
! tie sober proceedings are — a narrow room, and 
dark enough, yet full of much good feeling, also 
Avith hard wooden chairs Avora soft by generations 
of sitting — a sudden stir arose among the excel- 
lent people present. They turned and looked at 
me, as if they had neA*er enjoyed that privilege, 
or, at any rate, had failed to make proper use of 
it before. And ere my modesty aa'us certain 
whether this Avere for good or harm, they raised 
such a clapping Avith hands and feet, and a clink- 
ing of glasses in a line Avith it, that I felt myself 
Avorthy of some great renoAvn. I stood there 
and bowed, and made my best leg, and took off 
my hat in acknoAvledgment. Observing this, they 
Avere all delighted, as if I had done them a real 
honor; and up they arose Avith one accord, and 
gave me three cheers, with an Englishman set- 
ting the proper tune for it. 

I found myself so overcome all at once Avith 
my own fame and celebrity, that I called for a 
glass of hot rum-and-Avater, Avith the nipple of a 
lemon in it, and sugar the size of a nutmeg. My 
order Avas taken Avith a speed and deference hith- 
erto quite unknown to me ; and better than that, 
seven men opened purses, and challenged the 
right to pay for it. Entering into so rare a 
chance of getting on quite gratis, and knowing 
j that such vieAvs are quick to depart, I called for 
6 oz. of tobacco, AAdth the Bristol stamp (a red 
crown) upon it. Scarce had I tested the draught 
of a pipe — which I had to do sometimes for half 
an hour, Avith all to bloAV out, and no drawing in 
— Avhen the tobacco Avas at my elboAV, served AA'itli 
a saucer, and a courtesy. “Well,” thought I, 
‘ ‘ this is real glory.” And I longed to knoAv how 
I had earned it. 

It Avas not likely, with all those people gazing 
so respectfully, that I AA'Ould deign to ask them 
coarsely Avhat the deuce could haA^e made them 
do it. I had always felt myself unAvorthy of ob- 
scure position, and had dreamed, for many years, 
of having my merits perceiA^ed at last. And to 
ask the reason Avould have been indeed a degra- 
dation, although there was not a fibre of me but 
quivered to know all about it. Herein, hoAvever, 
I overshot the mark, as I found out afterAvards ; 
for my careless manner made people say that I 
must have Avritten the Avhole myself — a thing so 
veiy far below me, that I scorn to answer it. 
But here it is ; and then you can judge from the 
coarse style, and the three-decked Avords, Avhether 
it be work of mine : 

Felix Farley’s Bristol Journal, Saturday, July 
24, 1782. — “ Shipwreck and loss of all hands — 
Heroism of a British Tar. — We hear of a sad ca- 
tastrophe from the coast of Glamorganshire. The 
season of great heat and drought, from Avhich our 
readers must haA’e suffered, broke up, as they may 
kindly remember, Avith an almost unprecedented 
gale of Avind and thunder, on Sunday, the 11th 
day of this month. In the height of the tempest 
a large ship was descried, cast by the fury of the 
elements upon a notorious reef of rocks, at a little 


44 


THE MAID OF SEEK. 


place called Sker, about twenty miles to the east 
of Swansea. Serious apprehensions were enter- 
tained by the spectators for the safety of the 
crew, which appeared to consist of black men. 
Their fears were too truly verified, for in less than 
an hour the ill-fated bai'k succumbed to her cruel 
adversaries. No adult male of either color ap- 
pears to have reached the shore alive, although a 
celebrated fisherman, and heroic pensioner of our 
royal navy, whose name is David Llewellyn, and 
who traces his lineage from the royal bard of that 
patronymic,^ performed prodigies of valor, and 
proved himself utterly regardless of his own re- 
spectable and blameless life, by plunging repeat- 
edly into the boiling surges, and battling with the 
raging elements, in the vain hope of extricating 
the sufferers from a watery grave. With the 
modesty which appears to be, under some inscru- 
table law of nature, inseparable from courage of 
the highest order, this heroic tar desires to remain 
in obscurity. This we could not reconcile v,^ith 
our sense of duty ; and if any lover of our black 
brethren finds himself moved by this narration, we 
shall be happy to take charge of any remittance 
marked ‘D. L.’ It grieves us to add that none 
escaped except an intelligent young female, v/ho 
clung to the neck of Llewellyn. She states that 
the ship was the Andalusia, and had sailed from 
Appledore, which is, we believe, in Devonshire. 
The respected Coroner Bowles held an inquest, 
which afforded universal satisfaction.” 

Deeply sui-prised as I was to find how accu- 
rately, upon the whole, this paper had got the 
story of it — for not much less than half was true 
— it was at first a puzzle to me how they could 
have learned so much about myself, and the val- 
iant manner in which I intended to behave, but 
found no opportunity. Until I remembered that 
a man, possessing a very bad hat, had requested 
the honor of introducing himself to me, in my 
own house, and had begged me by all means to 
consider myself at home, and to allow him to 
send for refreshment, which I would not hear of 
twice, but gave him what I thought up to his 
mark, according to manners and appearance. 
And very likely he made a mistake between my 
description of what I was ready, as well as de- 
sirous, to carry out, and what I bodily did go 
through, ay, and more, to the back of it. How- 
ever, I liked this account very much, and resolved 
to encourage yet more warmly the next man who 
came to me with a bad hat. What, then, was 
my disgust at perceiving, at the very foot of that 
fine description, a tissue of stuff like the follow- 
ing: 

Another account [from a highly esteemed 
con’espondent]. — The great invasion of sand 
which has for so many generations spread such 
wide devastation, and occasioned such grievous 
loss to land-owners on the western coast of Gla- 
morganshire, made another great stride in the 
storm of Sabbath-day, July 11. A vessel of con- 
siderable burthen, named the Andalusia, and la- 
den with negroes, most carefully shipped for con- 
version among the good merchants of Bristol, ap- 
pears to have been swallowed up by the sand; 
and our black fellow-creatures disappeared. It 
is to be feared, from this visitation of an ever-be- 
nign Providence, that few of them had been con- 
verted, and that the burden of their sins disabled 
them from swimming. If one had been snatch- 
ed as a brand from the burning, gladly would we 


have recorded it, and sent him forward prayerful- 
ly for sustenance on his Avay to the Lord. But 
the only eye-witness (whose word must never be 
relied upon when mammon enters into the con- 
flict), a worn-out but well-meaning sailor, who 
fattens upon the revenue of an over- burdened 
country — this man ran away so fast that he saw 
hardly any thing. The Lord, however, knoweth 
His own in the days of visitation. A little child 
came ashoi’e alive, and a dead child bearing a 
coronet. Many people have supposed that the 
pusillanimous sailor aforesaid knows much more 
than he will tell. It is not for us to enter into 
that part of the question. Duty, however, com- 
pels ns to say, that any one desiring to have a 
proper comprehension of this heavy but righteous 
judgment — for He doeth all things well — can not 
do better than apply to the well-known horologist 
of Bridgend, Hezekiah Perkins, also to the royal 
family.” 

The above yam may simply be described as a 
gallows’-rope spun by Jack Ketch himself from 
all the lies of all the scoundrels he has ever hang- 
ed, added to all that his own vile heart can in- 
vent, with the devil to help him. The cold-blood- 
ed, creeping, and crawling manner in which I 
myself was alluded to — although without the 
manliness even to set my name down — as well as 
the low hypocrisy of the loathsome white-livered 
syntax of it, made me — well, I will say no more 
— the filthiness reeks without my stirring, and, 
indeed, no honest man should touch it ; only, if 
Hezekiah Perkins had chanced to sneak into the 
room just then, his Avife might have prophesied 
shrouds and Aveeds. 

For who else was capable of such lies, slimed 
Avith so much sanctimony, like cellar-slugs, or 
bilge-hole rats, rolling in Angelica, while all their 
entrails are of brimstone, such as Satan would 
scorn to vomit ? A bitter pain Avent up my right 
arm, for the weakness of my heart, when that 
miscreant gaA'e me insult, and I never knocked 
him down the Avell. And over and over again I 
have found it a thorough mistake to be always 
forgiving. HoAvever, to haA^e done with reflec- 
tions which must suggest themseEes to any one 
situated like me — if, indeed, any one ever was — 
after containing myself, on account of the people 
Avho surrounded me, better than could have been 
hoped for, I spoke, because they expected it. 

“Truly, my dear friends, I am thankful for 
your good-will toAvards me. Also to the unknoAvn 
Avriter, Avho has certainly made too much of my 
poor unaided efforts. 1 did my best ; it was but 
little : and who dreams of being praised for it ? 
Again, I am thankful to this other Avriter, aaLo has 
OA’erlooked me altogether. For the sake of poor 
Sandy MacraAV, Ave must thank him that he kindly 
forbore to make public the name.” 

You should have seen the faces of all the folk 
around the table when I gave them this surprise. 

“Why,” said one, “Ave thought for sure that 
it Avas you he was meaning, Dyo dear. And in 
our hearts Ave were angry to him, for such false- 
hoods large and black. Indeed and indeed, true 
enough it may be of a man outlandish such as 
Sandy MacraAV is. ” 

‘ ‘ Let us not hasten to judge, ” I replied ; ‘ ‘ San- 
dy is brave enough, I dare say, and he can take 
his own part Avell. I Avill not believe that he ran 
aAvay ; very likely he never Avas there at all. If 
he Avas, he deserves high praise for taking some 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


45 


little care of himself. I should not have been so 
stiff this night, if I had only had the common 
sense to follow his example.” 

All our people began to rejoice ; and yet they 
required, as all of us do, something more than 
strongest proof. 

“What reason is to show then, Dyo, that this 
man of letters meant not you, but Sandy Macraw, 
to run away so ?” 

“Hop kin, read it aloud,” I said ; “neither do 
I know, nor care, what the writer’s meaning was. 
Only I thought there was something spoken about 
his majesty’s revenue. Is it I, or is it Sandy, that 
belongs to the revenue?” 

This entirely settled it. All our people took it 
up, and neglected not to tell one another. So 
that in less than three days’ time, my name was 
spread far and wide for the praise, and the Scotch- 
man’s for the condemnation. I desired it not, 
as my friends well knew ; but what use to beat 
to windward, against the breath of the whole of 
the world ? Therefore I was not so obstinate 
as to set my opinion against the rest ; but left it 
to Mr. Macraw to rebut, if he could, his pusilla- 
nimity. 

As for Hezekiah Perkins, all his low creations 
fell upon the liead from which they sprang. I 
spoke to our rector about his endeavor to harm 
a respectable Newton man — for you might call 
Macraw that by comparison, though he lived at 
Porthcawl, and was not respectable — and every 
body was struck with my kindness in using such 
handsome terms of a rival. The result was that 
Perkins lost our church-clock, which paid him as 
well as a many two others, having been presented 
to the parish, and therefore not likely to go with- 
out pushing. For our rector was a peppeiy man, 
except when in the pulpit, and what he said to 
Hezekiah was exactly this : 

“What, Perkins! another great bill again! 
‘ To repair of church-clock, seven-and-sixpence ; 
to ten miles’ travelling, at three-pence per mile,’ 
and so on, and so on ! Why, you never came far- 
thei than my brother the colonel’s, the last three 
times you have charged for. Allow me to ask 
you a little question : to whom did you go for the 
keys of the church ?” 

“As if I should want any ke3'S of the church! 
There is no church-lock in the county that I can 
not open as soon as whistle.” 

“Indeed! So 3mu pick our lock. Do you 
ever open a church-door honestly, for the purpose 
of worshipping the Lord ? I have kept my eye 
upon you, sir, because I hear that you have been 
reviling my parishioners. And I happen to know 
that you never either opened the lock of our 
church or picked it, for the last three times you 
have charged for. But one thing jmu have pick- 
ed for many years, and that is the pocket of my 
rate-payers. Be off, sir — be off with \"our trump- 
ery' bill ! We will have a good Churchman to do 
our clock — a thoroughly honest seaman, and a 
regular church-goer.” 

“ Do you mean that big thief, Davy Llewellyn ? 
Well, well, do as you please. But I will thank 
you to pay my bill first.” 

“Thank me when you get it, sir. You may 
fall down on your canting knees, and thank the 
Lord for one thing.” 

“ What am I to thank the Lord for? For al- 
lowing you to cheat me thus ?” 


“For giving me self-command enough not to 
knock )’ou down, sir. ” With that the rector came 
so nigh him, that Brother Perkins withdrew in 
haste ; for the parson had done that sort of thing 
to people who ill-used him ; and the sense of the 
parish was always with him. Hence the man- 
agement of the church-clock passed entirel}' into 
my hands, and I kept it almost always going, at 
less than half Hezekiah’s price ; and this reunited 
me to the church (from which my poor wife per- 
haps had led me astray some little), by a monthly 
arrangement which reflected equal credit on either 
party. 

And even this was not the whole of the bless- 
ings that now rolled down upon me, for the sake, 
no doubt, of little Bardie, as with the ark in the 
Bible. For this fine Felix Farley was the only 
great author of news at that time prevalent among 
us. It is true that there was another journal near- 
er to us, at Hereford, and a highly good one, but 
for a very clear reason it failed to have command 
of the public-houses. For the customers liked 
both their pipes and their papers to be of the same 
origin, and go together kindly. And Hereford 
sent out no tobacco ; while Bristol was more fa- 
mous for the best Virginian bird’s-eye, than even 
for rum or intelligence. 

Therefore, as eveiy body gifted with the gift of 
reading came to the j)ublic-houses gradually, and 
to compare interpretation over those two narnv- 
tives, both of which stirred our county up, my 
humble name was in their mouths as freel}' and 
approvingly as the sealing-wax end of their pipe- 
stems. Unanimous consent accrued (when all 
had said the same thing over, fifty times in dif- 
ferent manners, and with fine-drawn argument) 
that after all, and upon the whole, David Llewel- 
lyn was an honor to county and to country. 

After that, for at least a fortnight, no more 
dogs were set at me. When I showed mj’self 
over a gentleman’s gate in the hope of selling fish 
to him, it used to be always, “At him, Fincher !” 
“Into his legs. Growler, boy!” So that I was 
compelled to cany my conger-rod to save me. 
Now, however, and for a season till my fame grew 
stale, I never lifted the latch of a gate Avithout 
hearing grateful utterance, “Towser, down, you 
son of a gun ! Yelp and Vick, hold your stupid 
tongues, will you ?” The value of my legs was 
largely understood by gentlemen. As for the la- 
dies and the house-maids, if conceit Avere in my 
nature, what a run it would haA'e had! Ahvays 
and always the same am I, and above even Avom- 
en’s opinions. But I knoAV no other man whose 
head Avould not have been turned Avith a day of 
it. For my rap at the door Avas scarcely given 
(louder, perhaps, than it used to be) before every 
maid in the house aa’US out, and the lady looking 
through the blinds. I used to dance on the stej), 
and beat my arms on my breast, Avith my basket 
doAvn betAveen my legs, and tremble almost for a 
second rap ; and then it Avas, “Like your imper- 
ence !” “None of your stinking stuff! ” and so on. 
But noAV they ran down beautifully-, and looked 
up under their eyelids at me, and left me to shoAV 
them Avhat I liked, and never beat down a half- 
penny, and even accepted my OAvn Aveight. Such 
is the grand effect of glory: and I might haA’e 
kissed eveiy one of them, and many even of the 
good plain cooks, if I could have reconciled it Avith 
my sense of greatness. 


46 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A CKAFT BEYOND THE LAW. 

Colonel Lougher, of Candleston Court, was 
one of the finest and noblest men it was ever my 
luck to come across. He never would hear a 
word against me, any more than I w'ould against 
him ; and no sooner did I see him upon the Bench 
than I ceased to care what the evidence was. If 
they failed to prove their falsehoods (as nearly al- 
ways came to pass), he dismissed them with a 
stern reprimand for taking away my character ; 
and if they seemed to establish any thing by low 
devices against me, what did he say? Why, no 
more than this : ‘ ‘ David, if what they say be true, 
you appear to have forgotten yourself in a very 
unusual manner. You have promised me always 
to improve; and I thought that you were doing 
it. This seems to be a trifling charge — however, 
I must convict you. The penalty is one shilling, 
and the costs fifteen.” 

“May it please your worship,”! always used 
to answer, “is an honest man to lose his good 
name, and pay those who have none for stealing 
it ?” 

Having seen a good deal of the world, he al- 
ways felt the force of this, but found it difficult 
to say so with prejudiced men observing him. 
Only I knew that my fine and costs would be 
slipped into my hand by-and-by, with a glimpse 
of the Candleston livery. 

This was no more than fair between us ; for 
not more than seven generations had passed since 
Griffith Llewellyn, of my true stock, had been the 
proper and only bard to the great Lord Lougher, 
of Coity, whence descended our good colonel. 
There had been some little mistake about the 
departure of the title, no doubt through extremes 
of honesty, but no lord in the county came of 
better blood than Colonel Lougher. To such a 
man it was a hopeless thing for the bitterest ene- 
my — if he had one — to impute one white hair’s- 
breadth of departure from the truth. A thor- 
oughly noble man to look at, and a noble man to 
hearken to, because he knew not his own kind- 
ness, but was kind to every one. Now this good 
man had no child at all, as generally happens to 
very good men, for fear of mankind improving 
much. And the great king of Israel, David, 
from whom our family has a tradition — yet with- 
out any Jewish blood in us — he says (if I am not 
mistaken) that it is a sure mark of the ungodly 
to have children at their desire, and to leave the 
rest of their substance to ungodly infants. 

Not to be all alone, the colonel, after the death 
of his excellent wife, persuaded his only sister, the 
Lady Bluett, widow of Lord Bluett, to set up with 
him at Candleston. And this she was not veiy 
loath to do, because her eldest son, the present 
Lord Bluett, was of a wild and sporting turn, and 
no sooner became of age but that he wanted no 
mother over him. Therefore she left him for 
awhile to his own devices, hoping every month 
to hear of his suddenly repenting. 

Now this was a lady fit to look at. You might 
travel all day among people that kept drawing- 
rooms, and greenhouses, and the new safe of mu- 
sic, well named from its color “grand pceony;” 
and you might go up and down Bridgend, even 
on a fair-day, yet nobody would you set eyes on 
fit to be looked at as a lady on the day that you 
saw Lady Bluett, 


It was not that she pretended any thing ; that 
made all the difference. Only she felt such a 
thorough knowledge that she was no more than 
we might have been, except for a width of acci- 
dents. And nothing ever parted her from any 
one with good in him. For instance, the first 
time she saw me again (after thirty years, pei- 
haps, from the season of her beauty-charm, when 
I had chanced to win all the prizes in the sports 
given at Candleston Court, for the manhood of 
now Colonel Lougher), not only did she at once 
recognize me, in spite of all my battering, but she 
held out her beautiful hand, and said, “ How are 
you, Mr. Llewellyn ?” Nobody had ever called 
me “Mr. Llewellyn” much tiU then; but, by 
good luck, a washer-woman heard it and repeated 
it ; and since that day there are not many people 
(leaving out clods and low enemies) with the face 
to accost me otherwise. 

However, this is not to the purpose, any more 
than it is worthy of me. How can it matter what 
people call me when I am clear of my fish-bas- 
ket? as, indeed, I always feel at the moment of 
unstrapping. No longer any reputation to re- 
quire my fist ready. I have done my utmost, 
and I have received the money. 

These are the fine perceptions which preseiwe a 
man of my position from the effects of calumny. 
And, next to myself, the principal guardian of my 
honor was this noble Colonel Lougher. More- 
over, a fine little chap there was. Lady Bluett’s 
younger son. Honorable Rodney Bluett by name; 
for his father had served under Admiral Rodney, 
and been very friendly with him, and brought him 
to ch,urch as a godfather. This young Rodney 
Bluett was about ten years old at that time, and 
the main delight of his life was this, to come fish- 
ing with Old Davy. The wondrous yarns I used 
to spin had such an effect on his little brain, that 
his prospects on dry land, and love of his mother, 
and certain inheritance from the colonel, were 
helpless to keep him from longing always to see 
the things which I had seen. With his large 
blue eyes upon me, and his flaxen hair tied back, 
and his sleeves tucked up for paddling, hour by 
hour he would listen, w’hen the weather was too 
rough to do much more than look at it. Or if 
we went out in a boat (as we did Avhen he could 
pay for hiring, and when his mother was out of 
the way), many and many a time I found him, 
when he should have been quick with the bait, 
dwelling upon the fine ideas which my tales had 
bred in him. I took no trouble in telling them, 
neither did I spare the truth when it would come 
in clumsily (like a lubber who can not touch his 
hat), but they all smelled good and true, because 
they had that character. * 

However, he must bide his time, as every one 
of us has to do, before I make too much of him. 
And just at the period now in hand he was down 
in my black books for never coming near me. It 
may have been that he had orders not to be so 
much with me, and veiy likely that was w’ise ; 
for neither his mother nor his uncle could bear 
the idea of his going to sea, but meant to make 
a red herring of him, as we call those poor land- 
soldiers. Being so used to his pretty company, 
and his admiration, also helping him as I did to 
spend his pocket-money, I missed him more than 
I could have believed ; neither could I help sor- 
rowing at this great loss of opportunity ; for many 
an honest shilling might have been turned ere 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


47 


winter by the hire of my boat to him when he 
came out with me fishing. I had prepared a scale 
of charges, very little over Captain Bob’s, to whom 
he used to pay 4c?. an hour, when I let him come 
after the whiting with me. And now, for no 
more than Go?, an hour, he should have my very 
superior boat, and keep her head by my direc- 
tions, for he understood a rudder, and bait my 
hooks, and stow my fish, and enjoy (as all boys 
sliould) the idea of being useful. 

For, as concerns that little barkie, I had by 
tills time secured myself from any farther uneasi- 
ness, or troublesome need of concealment, by a 
bold and spirited facing of facts, which deserves 
the congratulation of all honest fishermen. The 
boat, like her little captain, was at first all white 
— as I may have said — but noAv, before her ap- 
pearance in public, I painted her gunwale and 
strakes bright blue, even down to her water-mark ; 
and then, without meddling with her name, or 
rather that of the ship she belonged to, I retraced 
veiy lightly, but so that any one could read it, the 
name of the port from which she hailed, and which 
(as I felt certain now, from what I had seen on 
the poor wrecked ship) must have been San Sal- 
vador ; and the three last letters were so plain, 
that )I scarcely had to touch them. 

Now this being done, and an old worn painter 
shipped instead of the new one, which ^seemed to 
have been chopped olf with an axe, I borrowed 
a boat and stood off to sea from Porthcawl 
Point, where they beach them, having my tackle 
and bait on board, as if for an evening olf the 
Tuskar, where turbot and whiting-pollack are. 
Here I fished until dusk of the night, and as long 
as the people ashore could see me ; but as soon 
as all was dark and quiet, I just pulled into New- 
ton Bay, and landed opposite the old “ lied 
House,” where my new boat lay in ordinary, 
snug as could be, and all out of sight. For the 
ruins of this old “Red House” had such a re- 
pute for being haunted, ever since a dreadful 
murder cast a ban around it, that even I never 
wished to stop longer than need be there at 
night ; and once or twice I heard a noise that 
went to the marrow of my back ; of which, how- 
ever, I will say no more, until it comes to the 
proper place. Enough that no man, woman, or 
child, for twenty miles round, except myself, had 
a conscience clear enough to go in there after 
dark, and scarcely even by daylight. My little 
craft was so light and handy, that, with the aid 
of the rollers ready, I led her down over the 
beach myself, and presently towed her out to 
sea, with the water as smooth as a duck-pond, 
and the tide of the neap very silent. The weath- 
er was such as I could not doubt, being now so 
full of experience. Therefore I had no fear to 
lie in a very dangerous berth indeed, when any 
cockle of a sea gets up, or even strong tides are 
running. This was the west-end fork of the 
Tuskar, making what we call “callipers;” for 
the back of the Tuskar dries at half-ebb, and a 
wonderful ridge stops the run of the tide, not 
only for weeds but for fish as well. Here, with 
my anchor down, I slept, as only a virtuous man 
can sleep. 

In th«» ^ray of the morning, I was up, ere the 
waning moon was done with, and found the very 
thing to suit me going on delightfully. The 
heavy dew of autumn, rising from the land by 
perspiration, spread a cloud along the shore. A 


little mist was also crawling on the water here 
and there ; and having slept with a watch-coat 
and tarpaulin over me, I shook myself up, with- 
out an ache, and, like a good bee at the gate of 
the hive, was brisk for making honey. 

Hence I pulled away from land, with the heavy 
boat towing the light one, and even Sandy Ma- 
craw unable to lay his gimlet-eye on me. And 
thus I rowed, until quite certain of being over 
three miles from land. Then with the broad sun 
rising nobly, and for a moment bowing, till the 
wdiite fog opened avenues, I spread upon my pole 
a shirt w'hich mother Jones had washed for me. 
It was the time when Sandy Macraw was bound 
to be up to his business ; and I had always made 
a point of seeing that he did it. To have a low 
fellow of itchy character, and no royal breed about 
him, thrust by a feeble and reckless government 
into the berth that by nature w'as mine, and to 
find him not content with this, but, even in his 
hours of duty, poaching, both day and night, after 
my fish ; and wdien I desired to argue with him, 
holding his tongue to irritate me — satisfaction 
there could be none for it ; the only alleviation 
left me was to rout up this man right early, and 
allow him no chance of napping. 

Therefore, I challenged him with my shirt, 
thus early in the morning, because he was bound 
to be Avatching the world, if he acted up to his 
nasty business, such as no seaman would deign 
to ; and after a quarter of an hour perhaps, very 
likely it w'as his Avife that answ^ered. At any 
rate there Avas a signal up, and through my spy- 
glass I saAV that people Avanted to launch a boat, 
but failed. Therefore I made a great weaving of 
shirt, as much as to say, “extreme emergency; 
have the courage to try again. ” Expecting some- 
thing good from this, they laid their shoulders, 
and Avorked their legs, and presently the boat 
Avas boAving on the gently fluted sea. 

Now it was not that I wanted help, for I could 
have managed it all Avell enough, but I Avanted 
witnesses. For never can I bear to seem to set 
at naught legality. And these men Avere sure, 
upon half a croA\m, to place the facts before the 
public in an honest manner. So I let them row 
avA'^ay for the very lives of them, as if the salvage 
of the nation hung upon their thumbs and el- 
bow's ; only I doAvsed my shirt as soon as I found 
them getting eager. And I thought that they 
might as Avell hail me first, and slope olf disap- 
pointment. 

‘ ‘ Hoy there ! Boat ahoy ! What, Old DaA'y 
Llewellyn!” 

What man had a right to call me “old?” 
There I Avas, as fresh as eA’er. And I felt it the 
more that the man Avho did it was gray on the 
cheeks, Avith a very large family, and himself that 
vile old Sandy ! Nevertheless I preserved good 
manners. 

“ Ship your starboard oars, you lubbers ! Do 
you Avant to run me doAvn? What the devil 
brings you here, at this time of the morning ?” 
Hereupon these worthy felloAvs dropped their 
oars, from Avonder; until I shoAved them their 
mistake, and begged them to sheer off a little. 
For if I had accepted rope, such as they Avished 
to throw me, they might have put in adverse 
claims, and made me pay for my oavii boat ! 

“When a poor man has been at AA'ork all 
night,” said I, to break olf their olficiousness ; 
“Avhile all you lazy galley-rakers Avere abed and 


48 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


snoring, can’t lie put his shirt to diy without you 
wanting to plunder him ?” 

To temper off what might appear a little rude, 
though wholesome, I now permitted them to see 
a stone-ware gallon full of beer, or at least I had 
only had two pints out. Finding this to be the 
case, and being hot with rowing so rapidly to my 
rescue, they ivere well content to have some beer, 
and drop all farther claims. And, as I never 
can bear to be mean, I gave them the two-and- 
sixpence also. 

Sandy Macraw took all this money; and I 
only hope that he shared it duly ; and then, as 
he never seemed at all to understand my con- 
tempt of him, he spoke in that dry drawl of liis, 
wdiich he always droned to drive me into very 
dreadful words, and then to keep his distance. 

“ I am heartily glad, ma mon, to see the loock 
ye have encoonteered. Never shall ye say agin 
that I have the advantage of ye. The boit stud 
me in mickle siller ; but ye have grappit a boit 
for nort.” 

I can not write down his outlandish manner 
of pronouncing English; nor will I say much 
more about it ; because he concealed his jealousy 
so, that I had no enjoyment of it, except when I 
reasoned with myself. And I need have expect- 
ed nothing better from such a self-controlling 
rogue. But when we came to Porthcawl Point 
— where some shelter is from wind, and two pub- 
lic-houses, and one private — the whole affair was 
so straightforward, and the distance of my boat 
from shore, at time of capture, so established and 
so witnessed, that no steward of any manor durst 
even cast sheep’s-eyes at'lier. A paper was drawn 
up and signed ; and the two public-houses, at my 
expense, christened her “Old Davy.” And in- 
deed, for a little spell, I had enough to do with 
people who came at all hours of the day, to drink 
the health of my boat and me; many of whom 
seemed to fail to remember really who was the 
one to pay. And being still in cash a little, and 
so genei'ons always, I found a whole basket of 
whiting, and three large congers, and a lobster, 
disappear against chalk-marks, whereof I had no 
warning, and, far worse, no flavor. But what I 
used to laugh at was, that w'hen w’e explained to 
one another how the law lay on this question, 
and how the craft became legally mine, as a der- 
elict from the Andalusia, drifting at more than 
a league from land — all our folk being short 
and shallow in the English language, took up the 
word, and called my boat, all over the parish, my 
“ KELiCT ;” as if, in spite of the Creator’s wisdom, 
I w'ere dead and my wife alive ! 

♦ ■ 

CHAPTER XX. 

CONFIDENTIAL INTERCOURSE. 

But eveiy body must be tired of all this trou- 
ble about that boat. It shows w^hat a state of 
things W’e live in, and what a meddlesome lot we 
are, that a good man can not receive a gift straight 
into his hands from Providence, w’hich never be- 
fore rew’arded him, though he said his prayers 
every night almost, and did his very best to cheat 
nobody; it proves, at least to my mind, some- 
thing very rotten somew’here, when a man of 
blameless character must prove his right to w'hat 


he flnds. However, I had proved my right, and 
cut in Colonel Lougher’s woods a larger pole than 
usual, because the law would guarantee me, if at 
all assaulted. 

And truly, after all my care to be on the right 
side of it, such a vile attack of law w’as now’ im- 
pending on me, that with all my study of it, and 
perpetual attempts to jam its helm up almost into 
the very eye of reason, my sails very nearly failed 
to draw’, and left me shivering in the wind. But 
first for w’hat comes foremost. 

At that particular moment all things seemed 
to be most satisfactory. Here was my property 
duly secured and most useful to me ; here was a 
run of fish up from the Mumbles of a very supe- 
rior character ; here w’as my own reputation spread 
by the vigilance of the public press, so that I 
charged three farthings a pound more than Sandy 
Mac did; and here was my cottage once more, 
all alive with the mirth of our Bunny and Bardie. 
To see them playing at hide-and-seek with two 
chairs and a table; or “French and English,” 
which I taught them; or “come jand \'isit my 
grandmother;” or making a cat of the kettle- 
holder, with a pair of ears and a tail to it ; or 
giving a noble dinner-party with cockles and oys- 
ter-shells, and buttons, and apple-peel chopped 
finely ; or, what w’as even a grander thing, eating 
their own dinners prettily with their dolls beside 
them — scarcely any one would have believed that 
these little ones had no mothers. 

And yet they did not altogether seem to be 
forgetful, or to view the world as if there were 
no serious side to it. Very grave discourse was 
sometimes held between their bouts of play, and 
subjects of great depth and wonder introduced by 
doll’s clothes. For instance : 

“Hasn’t ’a got no mamma, poor Bunny, to 
thread ’e needle ?” 

“ No, my dear,” I answered, for my grandchild 
looked stupid about it; “poor Bunny’s mother 
is gone to heaven.” 

“My mamma not gone to heaven. ]\Iy mam- 
ma come demorrow-day. I’se almost tired of 
yaiting. Old Davy, but she sure to come demor- 
row-day.” 

But as tlie brave little creature spoke, I saw 
that “the dust w’as in her eyes.” This was her 
ow’n expression always, to escape the reproach of 
crying, when her lonely heart w’as w'orking with 
its misty troubles, and sent the tears into her 
eyes, before the tongue could tell of them. ‘ ‘ De- 
morrow-day, demorrow-day ” — all her loss was to 
be recovered always on “deraon'ow-day.” 

Not even So much as a doll had been saved 
from the total wreck of her fortunes ; and when 
I beheld her w’istful eyes set one day upon Bun- 
ny’s doll — although only fit for hospital, having 
one arm and one leg, and no nose, besides her 
neck being broken, I set to at once and sharpened 
my knife upon a piece of sandstone. Then I 
sought out a piece of abele, laid by from the fig- 
ure-head of a wrecked Dutchman, and in earnest 
I fell to, and shaped such a caiwing of a doll as 
never was seen before or since. Of course the 
little pet came, and stood, and watched every 
chip as I sliced it along, with sighs of deep ex- 
pectancy, and a laugh Avhen I got to the tail of 
it ; and of course she picked up every one, not 
only as. neatest of the neat, but also accounting 
them sa«red offsets of the mysterious doll unborn. 
I could i\ot get her to go to bed ; and it was as 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


49 


good as a guinea to me to see tlie dancing in her 
eyes, and the spring of her body returning. 

“ ’E can make a boofely doll, Old Davy; but 
’e doesn’t know the yay to dess a doll.” 

“You are quite wrong there,” said I, perceiv- 
ing that I should go up, or down, according to 
my assertion ; and it made her open her eyes to 
see me cut out, with about live snips, a pair of 
drawers quite good enough for any decent wom- 
an. And she went to bed hugging the doll in 
that state, and praying to have her improved to- 
morrow. 

At breakfast-time Mother Jones dropped in, 
for she loved a good salt-hen-ing, and to lay down 
the law for the day almost ; as if I knew scarce 
any thing. And I always let her have her talk, 
and listened to it gravely ; and clever women, as 
a rule, should not be denied of this attention ; for 
if they are, it sours them. While she w'as suck- 
ing the last of the tail, and telling me excellent 
scandal, my little lady marched in straight, hav- 
ing finished her breakfast long ago, and bearing 
her new doll pompously. The fly-aw'ay color in 
her cheeks, which always made her beautiful, and 
the sparkle of her gleeful eyes, were come again 
with pleasure, and so was the lovely pink of her 
lips, and the proper aspect of her nose. Also she 
w'alked with such motherly rank, throwing her 
legs with a female jerk — it is enough for me to 
say that any newly-married woman would have 
kissed her all round the room. 

Now Mother Jones, having ten fine children 
(five male and five female) going about with 
clothes up to their forks, need not have done 
what she did, I think, and made me so bashful 
in my owm house. For no sooner did she see 
this doll, than she cried, “ Oh, my!” and covered 
up her face. The little maid looked up at me in 
great wonder, as if I were leading her astray; 
and I felt so angiy witli Mrs. Jones, after all the 
things I had seen abroad, and even in English 
churches, that I would not trust myself to speak. 
How’ever, to pay her out for that, I begged her to 
cure the mischief herself, which she could not well 
decline ; and some of the green blind still remain- 
ing, Dolly became a most handsome sight, with a 
crackle in front and a sweeping behind, so that 
our clerk, a good-natured man, was invited to 
christen her; and “Patty Green ” was the name 
he gave : and Bunny’s doll was nobody. Such 
a baby-like thing might seem almost below my 
dignity, and that of all the rest of us ; only this 
child had the power to lead us, as by a special en- 
chantment, back to our own childhood. More- 
over, it was needful for me to go through Avith 
this doll’s birth (still more so with her dress, of 
course, having her a female), because through her 
I learned a great deal more of Bardie’s history 
than ever our Bunny could extract. 

Every body who has no patience wdth the Avays 
of childhood, may be A^exed, and must be A’exed, 
with our shipAvrecked maid for knoAving many 
things, but not the right ; but I think she AA'as to 
blame, only for her innocence. In her tiny brain 
was moving some uncertain sense of Avrong; 
W’hether done by herself or to her, Avas beyond her 
infant groping. If she could haA’e made her mind 
up, in its little milky shell, that the evil had be- 
fallen Avithout harm on her part, doubtless she 
had done her best to let us knoAv the Avhole of it. 
Her best, of course, Avould be but little, looking at 
her age and so on ; and perhaps from some harsh 
D 


Avord or froAvn, stamped into the tender flux of in- 
fantile memory, a heaAy dread both darkened and 
repressed much recollection. Hence, if one tried 
to examine Iier, in order to find out Avho she aa us, 
she Avould shake her head, and say “No! somj.*- 
fin ;” as she ahvays did Avhen puzzled or unable to 
pronounce a Avord. The only chance of learning 
even any little things she kneAV, Avas to leave her 
to her OAvn Avay, and not interrupt her conversa- 
tion Avith Avooden or crockery playmates. All of 
these she endoAved Avith life, having such power 
of life herself, and she reckoned them up for good 
behaA'ior, or for bad, as the case might be. And 
often Avas I touched at heart, after a day of bitter 
fighting Avith a Avorld that Avronged me, by hear- 
ing her in baby prattle tell her playthings of their 
unkindness to a little thing Avith none to love her. 

But Avhen I had finished Patty’s face up to com- 
plete expression, Avith tAvo black buttons for her 
eyes, and a coAvry for her mouth, and a nose of 
coral, also a glorious head of liair of crinkled sea- 
weed gi-OAving out of a shell (toothed like an ivory 
comb almost), the ecstasy of the child AAns such, 
that I obtained, as Avell as deserved, some valua- 
ble information. 

“Patty Geen, ’e’s been aye good,” I heard her 
say in my AvindoAA'-place, one morning after break- 
fast ; “and ’e is the most boofely doll ever seen, 
and I tell ’a sompfin; only ’e mustn’t tell any 
body, till my dear mamma comes. Nat wasn't 
ickle bother, Patty.” 

“Hoav do youknoAV, miss?” Patty inquired, by 
means of my voice in the distance, and a little ait 
I had learned abroad of throAving it into corners. 

‘ ‘ I tell ’a, Patty, I tell ’a. I ’ouldn’t tell ’e nas- 
ty man, but I tell Old Davy some day. Ickle 
bother not like nat at all. Ickle bother not so 
big enough, and only tAvo ickle teeth in front, and 
his hair all gone ayay it is, but mamma say soon 
come back again.” 

“And Avhat is little brother’s name ?” said Pat- 
ty, in a Avhisper ; “ and AAdiat is your name, and 
papa’s ?” 

“ Oh ’e silly Patty Geen ! As if ’e didn’t know 
I'se Bardie, ever since I Avas anyfin. And pajia, 
is papa, he is. Patty, I’se kite ashamed of ’a. ’E’s 
such a silly ickle fin !” 

‘ ‘ Well, I knoAv I am not very clever, miss. But 
tell me some more things you remember.” 

“I tell ’a, if ’e stop kiet. ‘I ’ish ’a many hap- 
py turns of the day. Miss Bardie. Many hapjiy 
tunis of the day tp ’a!’ And poor Bardie get 
ofi' her stool, and say w'hat her dear papa tell. 
‘Gentleyums and yadies, I’se aye much obiged 
to ’a.’ And then have boofely appledies, and car- 
bies, and a ickle dop of good yiney-piney. Does 
’e knoAv ’hot that means, poor Patty ?” 

“No, my dear, hoAV should I knoAV?” 

“ ’E mustn’t call me ‘my dear,’ I tell ’a. ’E 
must know ’a’s pace in yife. Why, ’e’s only a 
doll, Patty, and Bardie’s a young yady, and a 
’streamly ’cocious gal I is, and the gentleyums all 
say so. Ickle bother can’t say nuffin, Avithout me 
to soAv him the yay of it. But Bardie say almost 
anyfin — anyfin, Avhen I yikes to ty. Bardie say 
‘ PomA’oleanian dog !’ ” 

This cost her a long breath, and a great effort; 
but Patty expressed intense amazement at such 
poAver of diction, and begged to knoAV Something 
more about that extraordinary animal. 

“ Pomyoleanian dog is yite, yite all OA’er ’sept 
his collar, and his collar’s boo. And he’s got hair 


50 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


that long, Patty, ever so much longer than yours. 
And he yun yound and yound, he does. Oh, I 
do so yant my Pomyoleaniam dog ! ” 

Patty waited for two great tears to run quietly 
down two little cheeks; and then she expressed 
some contempt of the dog, and a strong desire to 
hear some more about the happy turns of the day. 

“Don’t ’e be jealous, now,^ Patty, I tell ’a. ’E 
ickle yite dog can eat, but ’e can’t. And happy 
turns of the day is yen a geat big gal is two years 
old with a ickle bother. And he can’t say nuffin, 
’cos he grow too strong enough, and ’e young yady 
must repy ; and ayebody yooks at ’a, and yatfs, 
and put ’e gasses up and say, ‘ ’Hot a ’cocious 
ickle fin !’ And my dear papa say, ‘ ’Hot a good 
gal ! ’ and mamma come and tiss ’a all over a’most, 
and then ’e all have some more puddeny-pie ! ” 

Overcome with that last memory, she could go 
no fiirther ; and being unable to give her pies, I 
felt myself bound to abandon any more inquiries. 
For that child scarcely ever roared, so as to ob- 
tain relief ; but seemed with a kind of self-control 
— such as unlucky people form, however early in 
their lives — to take her troubles inwardly, and to 
be full to the very lip of them, without the power 
of spilling. This, though a comfort to other peo- 
ple, is far worse for themselves, I fear. And I 
knew that she did love pastry rarely ; for one day, 
after a fine pair of soles, I said to the two chil- 
dren, “Now, put your little hands together, and 
thank God for a good dinner.” Bunny did this 
in a grateful manner ; but Bardie said, ‘ ‘ No, I 
’out, Old Davy ; I’ll thank God when I gets pud- 
deny-pie.” 

Upon the whole, I concluded thus, that the lit- 
tle creature was, after all (and as might have been 
expected with any other child almost), too young, 
in the third year of her age, to maintain any clear 
ideas of place, or time, or names, or doings, or 
any thing that might establish from her own words 
only, whence she came or who she was. How- 
ever, I now knew quite enough, if the right people 
ever came to seek for her, to “ ’dentify ” her, as 
she expressed it to that stupid coroner. 

Moxy Thomas came to fetch her back to Sker, 
in a few days’ time. I was now resolved to keep 
her, and she resolved to stay with me — and doubt- 
less I had first right to her. But when I saw 
poor Moxy’s face, and called to mind her desola- 
tion, and when she kissed my fishy hand to let 
her have this comfort, after all the Lord had 
taken from her, I could not find it in my heart to 
stand to my own interest. It came across me too 
that Bardie scarcely throve on so much fish ; and 
we never had any butcher’s meat, or meat of any 
kind at all, unless I took shares in a pig, after sav- 
ing up money for Christmas, or contrived to de- 
fend myself against the hares that would run at 
me so, when I happened to come through a gate 
at night. 

So with a clearly-pronounced brave roar, hav- 
ing more music than Bunny’s in it, and enough to 
wash a great deal of dust ” out of her woefully 
lingering eyes, away she went in Moxy’s arms, 
with Patty Green in her own looking likely to get 
wet through. And Bunny stuck her thumbs into 
my legs, which she had a knack of doing, espe- 
cially after sucking them ; so thus we stood, at our 
cottage-door, looking after Bardie ; and I took 
off my hat, and she spread her hand out, in the 
intervals of woe ; and little thought either of us, I 
dare say, of the many troubles in store for us both. 


Only before that grievous parting, she had done 
a little thing which certainly did amaze me. And 
if any body knows the like, I shall be glad to hear 
of it. I had a snug and tidy locker very near the 
fire-place, wherein I kept some little trifles ; such 
as Bunny had an eye for, but was gradually bro- 
ken into distant admiration. One morning I came 
suddenly in from looking to my night-lines, and a 
pretty scene I saw. The door of my cupboard 
was wide open, and there stood little Bardie giv- 
ing a finishing lick to her fingers. Bunny also in 
the corner, with her black eyes staring, as if at the 
end of the world itself. However, her pinafore 
was full. 

No sooner did my grandchild see me than she 
rushed away with shrieks, casting down all stolen 
goods in agony of conscience. I expected Bardie 
to do the same ; but, to my great wonderment, up 
she walked and faced me. 

“Must I beat poor Patty Geen?” The tears 
were in her eyes at having to propose so sad a 
thing. And she stroked the doll, to comfort her. 

“Beat poor Patty!” said I, in amazement. 
“Why, Avhat hann has Patty done?” 

“Nare she have been, all ’e time, stealing ’a 
soogar. Old Davy!” And she looked at me as 
if she had done a good turn by the information. 
I scarcely knew what to do, I declare ; for her 
doll was so truly alive to her, that she might, and 
perhaps did, believe it. However, I shut her in 
my little bedroom, until her heart was almost 
broken ; and then I tried to reason with her on 
the subject of telling lies ; but she could not un- 
derstand what they were ; until I said what I 
was forced to do, when I went among bad peo- 
ple. 

That evening, after she was gone, and while I 
was very dull about it, finding poor Bunny so slow 
and stupid, and nothing to keep me wide awake 
— there I was bound to be wide awake, more than 
at Petty Sessions even, when mine enemies throng 
against me. For almost before I had smoked two 
pipes, or made up my mind what to do with my- 
self, finding a hollow inside of me, the great post- 
ing-coach from Bridgend came up, with the sun 
setting bright on its varnish, and at my very door 
it stopped. Next to the driver sat a constable who 
was always unjust to me ; and from the inside 
came out first Justice Anthony Stew, of Pen 
Coedd, as odious and as meddlesome a justice of 
the peace as ever signed a warrant, and after 
him came a tall elderly gentleman, on whom I 
had never set eyes before, but I felt that he must 
be a magistrate. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

CROSS-EXAMINATION. 

Those justices of the peace, although appoint- 
ed by his majesty, have never been a comfort to 
me, saving only Colonel Lougher. They never 
seem to understand me, or to make out my de- 
sires, or to take me at my word, as much as I 
take them at theirs. My desire has always been 
to live in a painfully loyal manner, to put up with 
petty insults from customers who know no bet- 
ter, leaving them to self-reflection, and if possible 
to repentance, while I go my peaceful way, nor let 
them hear their money jingle, or even spend it in 
their sight. To be pleased and trustful also Avith 
the folk who trust in me, and rather to abandon 


THE LIAID OF SKER. 


51 


much, and give back two-pence in a shilling, than 
cause any purcliaser self-reproach for liaving 
sworn falsely before the bench — now if all this 
would not do to keep me out of the session- 
books, can any man point out a clearer proof of 
the vicious administration of what they call “jus- 
tice” around our parts ? And when any trump- 
ery case was got up, on purpose to worry and 
plague me, the only chance left me of any fair- 
play was to throw up my day’s work and wear 
out my shoes in trudging to Candleston Court, 
to implore that good Colonel Lougher to happen 
to sit on the bench that day. 

When those two gentlemen alighted from that 
rickety old coach, and ordered that very low con- 
stable to pace to and fro at the door of my house, 
boldly I came out to meet them, having injured 
no man, nor done harm of any sort that I could 
think of, lately. Stew came first, a man of no 
lineage, but pushed on by impudence ; ‘ ‘ Anthony 
Stew can look you through,” an English poach- 
er said of him ; and this he tried always to do 
with me, and thoroughly welcome he was to suc- 
ceed. 

I will not say that my inner movements may 
not have been uneasy, in spite of all my recti- 
tude ; however, I showed their two worships in- 
side, in the veiy best style of the quarter-deck, 
such as I had gathered from that coroneted cap- 
tain, my proud connection with whom, perhaps, 
I may have spoken of ere this, or at any rate 
ought to have done so, for I had the honor of 
swabbing his pumps for him almost every morn- 
ing ; and he was kind enough to call me “Davy.” 

Every Briton, in his own house, is bound to do 
his utmost ; so I touched my gray forelock, and 
made two good bows, and set a chair for each of 
them, happening to have no more just now, 
though with plenty of money to buy them. Self- 
controlled as I always am, many things had tried 
me, of late, almost to the verge of patience ; such 
imputations as fall most tenderly on a soiTowful 
widower : and my pure admiration of Bardie, 
and certainty of her lofty birth, had made me the 
more despise such foulness. So it came to pass 
that two scandalous men were given over by the 
doctors (for the pole I had cut was a trifle too 
thick) ; nevertheless they recovered bravely, and 
showed no more gratitude towards God, than to 
take out warrants against me! But their low 
devices were frustrated by the charge being taken 
before Colonel Lougher. And what did that ex- 
cellent magistrate do ? He felt himself compelled 
to do something. Therefore he fined me a shil- 
ling per head, for the two heads broken, with 10s. 
costs (which he paid, as usual), and gave me a 
very severe reprimand. 

“Llewellyn,” he said, “the time is come for 
you to leave otf this course of action. I do not 
wonder that you felt provoked ; but you must 
seek for satisfaction in the legal channels. Sup- 
pose these men had possessed thin heads, why 
j'ou might have been guilty of murder ! Make 
out his commitment to Cardiff Jail, in default of 
immediate payment. ” 

All this was good, and sustained one’s faith in 
the efficacy of British law; and trusting that 
nothing might now be amiss in the minds of 
these two magistrates, I fetched the block of syc- 
amore, whereupon my fish were in the habit of 
having their fins and tails chopped off* ; and there 
I sat down, and presented myself both ready and 


respectful. On the other hand, my visitors look- 
ed very grave and silent ; whether it were to pro- 
long my doubts, or as having doubts of their own, 
perhaps. 

“Your worships,” I began at last, in fear of 
gi'owing timorous with any longer waiting — 
“your worships must have driven far.” 

“To see you, Llewellyn,” Squire Stew said, 
with a nasty snap, hoping the more to frighten 
me. 

“Not only a pleasure to me, your worships, 
but a very great honor to my poor house. What 
will your worships be pleased to eat ? Butcher’s 
meat I would have had, if only I had known of 
it. But one thing I can truly say, my cottage 
has the best of fish.” 

“That I can. believe,” said Stew; “because 
you sell all the worst to me. Another such a 
trick, Llewellyn, and I have you in the stocks.” 

This astonished me so much — for his fish had 
never died over four days — that nothing but my 
countenance could express my feelings. 

“ I crave your pardon. Justice Stew,” said the 
tall gray gentleman with the velvet coat, as he 
rose in a manner that overawed me, for he stood 
a good foot over Anthony Stew, and a couple of 
inches over me; “may we not enter upon the 
matter which has led us to this place?” 

“Certainly, Sir Philip, certainly,” Stew re- 
plied, with a style which proved that Sir Philip 
must be of no small position ; “all I meant. Sir 
Philip, was just to let you see the sort of fellow 
we have to deal with.” 

“My integrity is well known,” I answered, 
turning from him to the gentleman; “not only 
in this parish, but for miles and miles round. It 
is not my habit to praise myself ; and in truth I 
find no necessity. Even a famous newspaper, so 
far away as Bristol, the celebrated ‘Felix Far- 
ley’s Journal ’ — ” 

“Just so,” said the elder gentleman; “it is 
that which has brought us here ; although, as I 
fear, on a hopeless errand.” 

With these words he leaned away, as if he had 
been long accustomed to be disappointed. To 
me it was no small relief to find their business 
peaceable, and that neither a hare which had 
rushed at me like a lion through a gate by moon- 
light, nor a stupid covey of partridges (nineteen 
in number, which gave me no peace while ex- 
cluded from my dripping-pan), nor even a pheas- 
ant cock whose croWing was of the most insult- 
ing tone — that none of these had been complain- 
ing to the Bench emboldened me, and renewed 
my sense of reason. But I felt that J ustice Stew 
could not be trusted for a moment to take this 
point in a proper light. Therefore I kept my 
wits in the chains, taking soundings of them 
both. 

“Now, Llewellyn, no nonsense, mind!” be- 
gan Squire Stew, with his face like a hatchet, 
and scollops over his eyebrows: “what we are 
come for is very simple, and need not unsettle 
your conscience, as you have allow'ed it to do, I 
fear. Keep your aspect of innocent wonder for 
the next time you are brought before me. I 
only wish your fish were as bright and slippery 
as you are.” 

“May I humbly ask what matter it pleases 
your Avorship to be thinking of?” 

“Oh, of course, you can not imagine, Davy. 
But let that pass, as you were acquitted, by virtue 


THE MAID OF SIHER. 


of your innocent face, in the teeth of all the evi- 
dence. If you had only dropped your eyes, in- 
stead of wondering so much — but never mind, 
stare as you may, some day we shall be sure to 
have you.” 

Now, I will put it to any body whether this 
was not too bad, in my own house, and with the 
Bench seated on my own best chairs ! Howev- 
er, knowing what a man he was, and how people 
do attribute to me things I never dreamed of, 
and what little chance a poor man has if he 
takes to contradiction, all I did was to look my 
feelings, which were truly virtuous. Nor were 
they lost upon Sir Philip. 

“You will forgive me, good sir, I hope,” he 
said to Squire Anthony; “but unless we are 
come with any charge against this — Mr. Lle- 
wellyn, it is hardly fair to re-open any awkward 
questions of which he has been acquitted. In 
his own house, moreover, and when he has of- 
fered kind hospitality to us — in a word, I will say 
no more.” 

Here he stopped, for fear perhaps of vexing the 
other magistrate ; and I touched my grizzled curl 
and said, “Sir, I thank you for a gentleman.” 
This was the way to get on with me, instead of 
driving and bullying ; for a gentleman or a lady 
can lead me to any extremes of truth ; but not a 
lawyer, much less a justice. And Anthony Stew 
had no faith in truth, unless she came out to his 
own corkscrew. 

“British tar,” he exclaimed, with his nasty 
sneer; “now for some more of your heroism! 
You look as if you were up for doing something 
very glorious. I have seen that color in your 
cheeks when you sold me a sewin that shone 
in the dark. A glorious exploit; wasn’t it, 
now’ ?” 

“That it was, your worship, to such a custom- 
er as you.” 

While Anthony Stew was digesting this, which 
seemed a puzzle to him, the tall gray gentleman, 
feeling but little interest in my commerce, again 
desired to huriy^ matters. “Forgive me again, 
I beseech you, good sir ; but ere long it will be 
dark, and as yet w’e have learned nothing.” 

“Leave it all to me. Sir Philip; your w’isest 
plan is to leave it to me. I know all the people 
around these parts, and especially this fine fellow. 
I have made a sort of study of him, because I 
consider him what I may call a thoroughly typic- 
al character.” 

“I am not a typical character,” I answ’ered, 
overhastily, for I found out afterwards wliat he 
meant. “ I never tipple ; but when I diink, my 
rule is to go through with it.” 

Squire Stew laughed loud at my mistake, as if 
he had been a great scholar himself ; and eA’en Sir 
Philip smiled a little in his sw’eet and lofty man- 
ner. No doubt but I was vexed for a moment, 
scenting (though I could not see) eiTor on my 
ow'n part. But now I might defy them both 
ever to write such a book as this. For vanity 
has ahvays been so foreign to my nature, that 1 
am sure to do my best, and, after all, think noth- 
ing of it, so long as people praise me. And now’, 
in spite of all rude speeches, if Sir Philip had 
only come without that Squire Anthony, not a 
thing of all that happened w’ould I have retained 
from him. It is hopeless for people to say that 
my boat crippled speech on my part. Tush ! I 
w’ould have pulled her plug out on the tail of the 


Tuskar rather than one moment stand against the 
light for Bardie. 

Squire Stew asked me all sorts of questions 
having no more substance in them than the blow’- 
ing-hole at the end of an egg, or the bladder of 
a skate-fish. All of these I answered boldly, 
finding his foot outside my shobs. And so be 
came back again, as they do after trying foolish 
excursions, to the very point he started with. 

“Am I to understand, my good fellow’, that 
the ship, which at least you allow’ to be wrecked, 
may have been or might have been something 
like a foreigner ?” 

“Therein lies the point W’hereon your worship 
can not follow me, any more than could the cor- 
oner. Neither he, nor his clerk, nor the rest of 
the jury, would listen to common sense about it. 
That ship no more came from Appledore than a 
whale was hatched from a herring’s egg.” 

“I knew it, I knew it,” broke in Sir Philip. 
“They htwe only small coasters at Appledore. 
I said that the newspaper must be wrong. How- 
ever, for the sake of my two poor sons, I am 
bound to leave no clue unfolloAved. There is 
nothing more to be done, Mr. Stew’, except to 
express my many and great obligations for y^ur 
kindness.” Herewith he made a most stately 
bow, and gave even me a corner of it. 

“ Stay, Sir Philip ; one moment more. This 
fellow is such a crafty file. Certain I am that he 
never would look so unnaturally frank and candid 
unless he were in his most slippery mood. You 
know the old proverb, I dare say, ‘Put a Tafiy 
on his mettle, he’ll boil Old Nick in his ow'ii 
fish-kettle.’ Dyo, where did your boat come 
from ?” 

This question he put in a very sudden, and I 
might w'ell say vicious, manner, darting a glance 
at me like the snakes’ tongues in the island of 
Das Cobras. I felt such contempt that I tunied 
my back, and gave him a view’ of the “boofely 
buckens ” admired so much by Bardie. 

“Well done!” he cried. “Your resources, 
Dyo, are an infinite credit to you. And, do you 
know’, when I see your back, I can almost place 
some faith in you. It is broad and flat and sturdy, 
Dyo. Ah! many a fine hare has sw'ung there 
head dow’nw’ard. Nevertheless, w’e must see this 
boat.” 

Nothing irritates me more than what low En- 
glishmen call “chatf.” I like to be pleasant 
and jocular upon other people ; but I don’t like 
that sort of thing tried upon me when I am not 
in the humor for it. Therefore I answered 
crustily, 

“ Your worship is welcome to see my boat, and 
go to sea in her if you please, w’ith the plug out 
of her bottom. Under Porthcawl Point she lies, 
and all the people there know all about her. 
Only I wall beg your w'orship to excuse my pres- 
ence, lest you should have low suspicions that I 
came to twist their testimony.” 

“Well said, David ! w’ell said, my fine fellow I 
Almost I begin to believe thee, in spite of all ex- 
perience. Now’, Sir Philip.” 

“ Your pardon, good sir ; I follow you into the 
carriage.” 

So oft’ they set to examine my boat ; and I 
hoped to see no more of them, for one* thing was 
certain — to wat, that their coachman never would 
face the sand-hills, and no road ever is, or ever 
can be, to Porthcawl ; so that these two worthy 


THE IMAID OF SKER. 


gentlemen needs must exert their noble legs for 
at least one-half of the distance. And knowing 
that Squire Stew’s soles were soft, I thought it a 
blessing for him to improve the only soft part 
about him. 

■» 

CHAPTER XXII. 

ANOTHER DISAPPOINTMENT. 

Highly pleased with these reflections, what 
did I do but take a pipe and sit like a lord at my 
own door-way, having sent poor Bunny with a 
smack to bed, because she had shown curiosity ; 
for this leading vice of the female race can not 
be too soon discouraged. But now I began to 
fear almost that it would be growing too dark 
veiy soon for me to see what became of the car- 
riage returning with those two worships. More- 
over, I felt that I had no right to let them go so 
easily, without even knowing Sir Philip’s sur- 
name, or what might be the especial craze which 
had led them to honor me so. And sundry other 
considerations slowly prevailed over me ; until it 
would have gone sore with my mind to be kept 
in the dark concerning them. So, when heavy 
dusk of autumn drove in over the notch of sand- 
hills from the far-away of sea, and the green of 
grass was gone, and you hardly could tell a boy 
from a girl among the children playing, unless you 
knew their mothers ; I, rejoicing in their pleas- 
ures, quite forgot the justices. For all our chil- 
dren have a way of letting out their liveliness 
such as makes old people feel a longing to be in 
with them. Not like Bardie, of course, but still 
a satisfactory feeling. And the better my tobac- 
co grew, the sweeter were my memories. 

Before I had courted ray wife and my sweet- 
hearts (a dozen and a half perhaps, or at the out- 
side say two dozen) any thing more than twice 
apiece, in the gentle cud of memory, and with very 
quiet sighs indeed for echoes of great thumping 
ones ; and just as I wondered what execution a 
beautiful child, with magnificent legs, would do 
wlien I lay in the church-yard — all of a heap I 
was fetched out of dreaming into common sense 
again. There was the great yellow coach at the 
corner of the old gray wall that stopped the sand ; 
and all the village children left their “ hide-and- 
seek ” to whisper. Having fallen into a different 
mood from that of curiosity, and longing only for 
peace just now, or tender styles of going, back 
went I into my own cottage, hoping to hear them 
smack whip and away. Even my hand was on 
the bolt — for a bolt I had now on account of the 
cats, who understand every manner of latch, 
wherever any fish be — and perhaps it is a pity 
tluit I did not shoot it. 

But there came three heavy knocks; and I 
scarcely had time to unbutton my coat, in proof 
of their gi’eat intnision, before I was forced to 
show my face and beg to know their business. 

“Now, Dyo, Dyo,” said that d — d Stew [sav- 
ing your presence, I can’t call him else], “this 
is a little too bad of you ! Retiring ere dusk ! 
Aha! aha! And how many hours after mid- 
night will you keep your hornpipes up, among the 
‘jolly sailors !’ Great Davy, I admire you.” 

I saw that it was not in his power to enter into 
my state of mind ; nor could I find any wit in 
his jokes, supposing them to be meant for such, 

“ Well, what did your worships think of Forth- 


cawl?” I asked, after setting the chairs again, 
while I bustled about for my tinder-box : ‘ ‘ did 
you happen to come across the man whose evil 
deeds are always being saddled upon me?” 

“We found a respectable worthy Scotchman, 
whose name is Alexander Macraw, and who told 
us more in about five minutes than we got out of 
you in an hour or more. He has given us strong- 
er reason to hope that we may be on the right 
track at last to explain a most painful mystery, 
and relieve Sir Philip from the most cruel sus- 
pense and anxiety.” 

At these words of Squire Anthony, the tall 
gray gentleman with the velvet coat bowed, and 
would fain have spoken, but feared perhaps that 
his voice would tremble. 

“Macraw thinks it highly probable,” Justice 
Stew continued, “ that the ship, though doubtless 
a foreigner, may have touched on the opposite 
coast for supplies, after a long ocean voyage ; and 
though Sir Philip has seen your boat, and con- 
siders it quite a stranger, that proves nothing 
either way, as the boat of course would belong to 
the ship. But one very simple and speedy way 
there is of settling the question. You thought 
proper to conceal the fact that the coroner had 
committed to your charge, as foreman of the jury 
— and a precious juiy it must have been — so as 
to preseiwe near the spot, in case of any inquiry, 
the dress of the poor child washed ashore. This 
will save us the journey to Sker, which in the 
dusk would be dangerous. David Llewellyn, 
produce that dress, under my authority.” 

“That I will, your worship, with the greatest 
pleasure. I am sure I would have told you all 
about it, if I had only thought of it.” 

“Ahem!” was all Squire Stew’s reply, for a 
horribly suspicious man hates such downright 
honesty. But without taking farther notice of 
him, I went to my locker of old black oak, and 
thence I brought that upper gannent, something 
like a pinafore, tlie sight of Avhich'had produced 
so strong an effect upon the coroner. It was 
made of the very finest linen, and perhaps had 
been meant for the child to wear in lieu of a frock 
in some hot climate. As I brought this carefully 
up to the table, Squire Stew cried, “Light anoth- 
er candle,” just as if I kept the village shop! 
This I might have done at one time, if it had 
only happened to me at the proper period to 
marry the niece of the man that lived next door 
to the chapel, where they dried the tea-leaves. 
She took a serious 'liking to me with my navy 
trowsers on ; but I was fool enough to find fault 
with a little kink in her starboard eye. I could 
have carried on such a trade, with my knowledge 
of what people are, and description of foreign cli- 
mates — however it was not to be, and I had to 
buy my candles. 

As soon as we made a fine strong light, both 
the gentlemen came nigh, and Sir Philip, who 
had said so little, even now forbore to speak. I 
held the poor dress, tattered by much beating on 
the points of rocks ; and as I unrolled it slowly, 
he withdrew his long white hands, lest we should 
remark their quivering. 

“You are not such fools as I thought,” said 
Stew ; “ it is a coronet, beyond doubt. I can trace 
the lines and crossings, though the threads are 
frayed a little. And here in the corner, a money- 
grum — ah ! you never saw that, you stupes — do 
you know the mark, sir ?” 


64 


THE ISIAID OF SIvER. 


“I do not,” Sir Philip answered, and seemed 
unable to fetch more words ; and then, like a 
strong man, turned away, to hide all disappoint- 
ment. Even Anthony Stew had the manners to 
feel that here was a sorrow beyond his depth, and 
he covered his sense of it, like a gentleman, by 
some petty talk with me. And it made me al- 
most respect him to find that he dropped all his 
banter as out of season. 

But presently the tall gray gentleman recovered 
from his loss of hope, and with a fine brave face re- 
garded us. And his voice was firm and very sweet. 

“It is not right for me to cause you pain by 
my anxieties ; and I fear that you will condemn 
me for dwelling upon them oveimuch. But you, 
Mr. Stew, already know, and you, my friend, have 
a right to know, after your kind and ready help, 
that it is not only the piteous loss of two little in- 
nocent children, very dear ones both of them, but 
also the loss of fair repute to an honorable family, 
and the cruel suspicion cast upon a fine brave fel- 
low, who would scorn, sir, who would scora, for 
the wealth of all this kingdom, to hurt the hair of 
a baby’s head.” 

Here Sir Philip’s voice was choked with indig- 
nation more than sorrow, and he sat do^vn quick- 
ly, and waved his hand, as much as to say, “I 
am an old fool, I had much better not pretend to 
talk.” And much as I longed to know all about 
it, of course it was not my place to ask. 

“Exactly, my dear sir, exactly,” Squire An- 
thony went on, for the sake of saying something ; 
“I understand you, my dear sir, and feel for you, 
and respect you greatly for your manly fortitude 
under this sad calamit}''. Trust in Providence, 
my dear sir; as indeed I need not tell you.” 

“I will do my best; but this is now the sev- 
enth disappointment we have had. It would 
have been a heavy blow, of course, to have found 
the poor little fellow dead. But even that, with 
the recovery of the other, would have been better 
than this dark mystery, and, above all, would 
have freed the living from these maddening sus- 
picions. But as it is, we must try to bear it, and 
to say, ‘ God’s will be done.’ But I am thinking 
too much about ourselves. Mr. Stew, I am very 
ungrateful not to think more of your convenience. 
You must be longing to be at home.” 

“At your sendee. Sir Philip — quite at your 
service. My time is entirely my own.” 

This was simply a bit of brag, and I saw that 
he was beginning to fidget ; for, bold as his wor- 
ship was on the bench, we knew that he was but 
a coward at board, where IMrs. Stew ruled Avith a 
rod of iron : and now it was long past dinner-time 
even in the finest houses. 

“One thing more, then, before we go,” an sever- 
ed Sir Philip, rising ; “according to the news- 
paper, and as I hear, one young maiden was real- 
ly saved from that disastrous shipwreck. I wish 
we could have gone on to see her ; but I must 
return to-morrow morning, having left many anx- 
ious hearts behind. And to cross the sands in 
the dark, they say, is utterly impossible.” 

“Not at all, Sir Philip,” said I,A"eiy firmly, 
for I honestly wished to go through with it ; “ al- 
though the sand is very deep, there is no fear at 
all if one knows the track. It is only the coward- 
ice of these people ever since the sand-storm. I 
would answer to take you in the darkest night, if 
only I had ever learned to drive.” But Anthony 
Stew broke in with a smile. 


“It would grieve me to sit behind you, Dj’o, 
and I trow that Sir Philip would never behold 
Appledore again. There is nothing these sailors 
will not attempt.” 

Although I could sit the bow-thwart of a cart 
very Avell, with a boy to drive me, and had often 
advised the hand at the tiller, and sometimes as 
much as held the whip, all this, to my diffidence, 
seemed too little to warrant me in naAugating a 
craft that carried two horses. 

Sir Philip looked at me, and perhaps he thought 
that I had not the cut of a coachman. How- 
ever, all he said was this : 

“ In spite of your kindness, Mr. Stew, and your 
offer, my good sir” — this was to me, with much 
dignity — “I perceive that we must not think of 
it. And of what use could it be except to add 
new troubles to old ones ? Sir, I have trespassed 
too much on your kindness ; in a minute I will 
follow you. ” Anthony Stew, being thus address- 
ed, was only too glad to skip into the carriage. 
“By-by, Dyo,”he cried; “mend your ways, if 
you can, my man. I think you have told fcAver lies 
than usual; knock off one eveiy time of speak- 
ing, and in ten years you will speak the truth.” 

Of this low mbbish I took no heed any more than 
any one would Avho knows me, especially as I be- 
held Sir Philip signalling with his pm’se to me, 
so that Stew might not be privy to it. Entering 
into the spirit of this, I had some pleasant mem- 
ories of gentlemanly actions done by the superior 
classes towards me, but longer agone than I could 
have desired. And now being out of the habit 
of it, I showed some natural reluctance to begin 
again, unless it were really worth my Avhile. Sir 
Philip understood my feelings, and I rose in his 
esteem, so that half-guineas went back to his 
pocket, and guineas took the place of them. 

“Mr. Llewellyn, I know,” he said, “ that you 
haA’e served your country well ; and it grieves me 
to think that on my account you have met with 
some harsh words to-day.” 

“If your worship only knew how little a thing 
of that sort moves me when I think of the great 
injustice. But I suppose it must be expected by 
a poor man such as I am. Justice Stew is spoil- 
ed by having so many rogues to deal with. I al- 
Avays make allowance for him ; and of course I 
knoAv that he likes to play AA’ith the lofty character 
I beai\ If I had his house and his rich estate — 
but it does not matter — after all, Avhat are Ave?” 

“Ah, you may Avell say that, LleAvellyn. Two 
months ago I could not IiaA-e believed — but Avho 
are Ave to find fault Avith the doings of our 
Maker ? All aauU be right if Ave trust in Him, 
although it is devilish hard to do. But that poor 
,maid at that AA'retched place — Avhat is to become 
of her?” 

“ She has me to look after her, your worship, 
and she shall not staiwe while I have a penny.” 

“Bravely said, LleAvellyn! My son is a sail- 
or, and I understand them. I knoAv that I can 
trust you fully to take charge of a trifle for her.’^ 

“I loA'e the maid,” I ansAvered, truly; “I 
Avould sooner rob myself than her.” 

“ Of course you Avould, after saving her life. 

I have not time to say much to you, only take 
this trifle for the benefit of that poor thing.” 

From a red leathern bag he took out ten 
guineas, and hastily plunged them into my hand, 
not Avishing SteAv to haA'e knoAvledge of it. But 
I Avas desirous that every body should have the 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


chance to be witness of it, and so I held my hand 
quite open. And just at that moment our Bun- 
ny snored. 

“What! have you children yourself, Llewel- 
lyn ? I thought that you were an old bachelor.” 

“An ancient widower, your worship, with a 
little grandchild ,• and how to keep her to the 
mark, with father none and mother none, quite 
takes me off my head sometimes. Let me light 
your honor to your caipage.” 

“Not for a moment, if you please; I w'ish I 
had known all this before. Mr. Stew never told 
me a word of this.” 

“It w'ould have been strange if he had,” said 
I ; “ he is always so bitter against me, because 
he can never prove any thing.” 

“Then, Llewellyn, you must oblige me. 
Spend this tiifle in clothes and things for that 
little snorer.” 

He gave me a little crisp affair, feeling like a 
child’s caul dried, and I thought it was no more 
than that. However, I touched my brow and 
thanked him as he went to the carriage-steps ; 
and after consulting all the village, I found it a 
staunch pledge from the Government for no less 
than five pounds sterling. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

INTO GOOD SOCIETY. 

In spite of all that poor landsmen say about 
equinoctial gales and so on, w'e often have the 
loveliest weather of all the year in September. 
If this sets in, it lasts sometimes for three weeks 
or a month together. Then the sky is bright and 
fair, with a firm and tranquil blue, not so deep 
of tint or gentle as the blue of spring-tide, but 
more truly staid and placid, and far more trust- 
worthy. The sun, both when he rises over the 
rounded hills behind the cliffs and when he sinks 
into the level of the width of waters, shines with 
ripe and quiet lustre, to complete a year of labor. 
As the eastern in the morning, so at sunset the 
western heaven glows with an even flush of light 
through the entire depth pervading, and unbro- 
ken by any cloud. Then at dusk the dew fog wa- 
vers in white stripes over the meadow-land, or 
in winding combs benighted pillows down, and 
leaves its impress a sparkling path for the sun’s 
return. To my mind no other part of the year is 
pleasanter than this end of harvest, with golden 
stubble, and orchards gleaming, and the hedge- 
rows turning red. Then fish are in season, and 
fruit is wholesome, and the smell of sweet brewing 
is rich on the air. 

This beautiful weather it was that tempted 
Colonel Lougher and Lady Bluett to take a trip 
for the day to Sker. The distance from Candles- 
ton Court must be at least two good leagues of 
sandy road, or rather of sand without any road, 
for a great part of the journey. Therefore, in- 
stead of their heavy coach, they took a light two- 
wheeled car, and a steady-going pony, which was 
very much wiser of them. Also, which Avas wiser 
still, they had a good basket of provisions, intend- 
ing to make a long sea-side day, and expecting a 
lively appetite. I saw them pass through New- 
ton, as I chanced to be mending my nets by the 
Avell ; and I touched my hat to the colonel, of 
course, and took it off to the lady. The colonel 


was driving himself, so as not to be cumbered 
with any servant ; and happening to see such a 
basket of food, I felt pretty sure there would be 
some over, for the quality never eat like us. 
Then it came into my memory that they could 
not bear Evan Thomas, and it struck me all of a 
sudden that it might be well worth my while to 
happen to meet them upon their return, before 
they passed any poor houses, as well as to happen 
to be swinging an empty basket conspicuously. 
It was a provident thought of mine, and turned 
out as well as its foresight deseiwed. 

They passed a very pleasant day at Sker (as I 
was told that evening), pushing about among 
rocks and stones, and routing out this, that, and 
the other, of shells and sea- weed and star-fish, and 
all the rest of the rubbish, such as amuses great 
gentry, because they have nothing to do for their 
living. And though money is nothing to them, 
they always seem to reckon what they find by 
money- value. Not Colonel Lougher, of course, 1 
mean, and even less Lady Bluett. I only speak 
of some grand people who come raking along our 
beach. And of all of these there Avas nobody 
Avitli the greediness Anthony SteAV had. A crab 
that had died in changing his shell Avould hardly 
come amiss to him. Let that pass — Avho cares 
about him! I Avish to speak of better people. 
The colonel, though he could not keep ill-A\-ill 
against any one on earth, did not choose to be 
indebted to Sker Grange for even so much as a 
bite of hay for his pony. Partly, perhaps, tliat 
he might not appear to play fiilsc to his oavu ten- 
antry ; for the Nottage farmers, Avho held of the 
colonel, Avere ahvays at feud Avith E\’an Thomas. 
Therefore lie baited the pony himself, after easing 
off some of the tackle, and moored him to an an- 
cient post in a little sheltered holloAv. Their ra- 
tions also he left in the car, for even if any one 
did come by, none AA'Ould ever think of touching 
this good magistrate’s property. 

Quite early in the afternoon, their appetites 
greAv very brisk by reason of the crisp sea-breeze 
and sparkling freshness of the Avaves. Accord- 
ingly, after consultation, they agreed that the time 
Avas come to see Avhat Grumpy, their honest old 
butler, had put into the basket. The colonel held 
his sister’s hand to help her up rough places, and, 
breasting a little crest of rushes, they broke upon 
a pretty sight, Avhich made them both say “ hush,” 
and Avonder. 

In a holloAv place of sand, spread Avith dry Avhite 
bones, skates’ pouches, blades of cuttle-fish, sea- 
snail shells, and all the other things that storm 
and sea driA'e into and out of t!ie sands, a very- 
tiny maid Avas sitting, holding audience all alone. 
She seemed to have no sense at all of loneliness 
or of earthly trouble in the importance of the mo- 
ment and the gravity of play. Before her sat 
three little dolls, arranged according to their rank, 
cleverly posted in chairs of sand. The one in the 
middle Avas “Patty Green,” the other two strange 
imitations fashioned by young Watkin’s knife. 
Each Avas urging her claim to shells, Avhich the 
mistress Avas dispensing fairly, and Avith good ad- 
Auce to each, then laughing at herself and them, 
and trying to teach them a nursery-song, Avhich 
broke doAvn from forgetfulness. And all the Avhile 
her quick bright face, and the crisp grain of her 
attitudes, and the jerk of her thick short curls, 
Avere enough to make any one say, “What a 
queer little soul ! ” Therefore it is not to be sur- 


50 


THE MAID OF SKEE. 


prised at that Colonel Lougher could not make 
her out, or that while he was feeling about for his 
eye-glass of best crystal, his sister was (as be- 
hooves a female) rasher to express opinion. For 
she had lost a little girl, and sometimes grieved 
about it still. 

“What a queer little, dear little thing, Henry ! 
I never saw such a child. Where can she have 
dropped from ? Did you see any carriage come 
after us? It is useless to tell me that she can 
belong to any of the people about here. Look at 
her forehead, and look at her manners, and how 
she touches every thing ! Now did you see that ? 
What a wonderful child! Every movement is 
grace and delicacy. Oh you pretty darling!” 

Her ladyship could wait no longer for the col- 
onel’s opinion (which he was inclined to think of 
ere he should come out with it), and she ran down 
tlie sand-hill almost faster than became lier dig- 
nity, But if she had been surprised before, how 
was she astonished now at Bardie’s reception of 
her ? 

“Don’e tush. Knee tushy paw, see voo pay. 
All ’e dollies is yae good ; just going to dinny, 
and ’e mustn’t ’poll tlieir appetites.” 

And the little atom ai-ose and moved Lady 
Bluett’s skirt out of her magic cii'cle. And then, 
having sa-s ed her children, she stood scarcely up 
to the lady’s knee, and looked at her as much as 
to ask, “Arc you of the quality?” And being 
well satisfied on that point, she made what the 
lady declared to be the most elegant courtesy she 
ever had seen. 

Meanwhile, the colonel was coming up in a 
dignified manner, and leisurely, perceiving no 
cause to rush through rashes, and knowing that 
his sister was often too quick. This had happen- 
ed several times in the matter of beggars and peo- 
j)le on crutches, and skin-collectors, and such-like, 
who can not always be kept out of the way of la- 
dies ; and his worship the colonel had been com- 
pelled to endeavor to put a stop to it. There- 
fore (as the best man in the world can not in 
reason be expected to be in a moment abreast 
with the sallies of even the best Avomankind, but 
likes to see the bottom of it), the colonel came up 
crustily. 

“Eleanor, can you not see that the child does 
not Avish for your interference? Her brothers 
and sisters are sure to be here from Kenfig most 
likely, or at any rate some of her relations, and 
busy perhaps Avith our basket.” . 

“No,” said the child, looking up at him, “I’se 
got no ’lations noAV ; all gone ayae ; but all come 
back de-morroAV day.” 

‘ ‘ Why, Henry, Avhat are we thinking of ? This 
must be the poor little girl that Avas Avrecked. 
And I Avanted you so to come doAAm and see her ; 
but you refused, on account of her being under the 
care of Farmer Thomas.” 

“No, my dear, not exactly that, but on ac- 
count of the trouble in the house I did not like to 
appear to meddle.” 

“Whatever your reason was,” answered the 
lady, “no doubt you AA'ere quite right ; but noAv I 
must knoAV more of this poor little thing. Come 
and have some dinner Avith us, my darling ; I am 
sure you must be hungry. Don’t be afraid of the 
colonel. He loA'es little children Avhen they are 
good.” 

But poor Bardie hung doAAm her head and Avas 
shy, Avhicli never happened to her Avitli me or any 


of the common people ; she seemed to know, as 
if by instinct, that she was noAV in the company 
of his equals. Lady Bluett, howcA'er, Avas used 
to children, and A^ery soon set her quite at ease 
by inviting her dolls, and coaxing them, and list- 
ening to their histories, and all the other little 
turns that unlock the hearts of innocence. So it 
came to pass that the castaAvay dined in good so- 
ciety for the first time since her great misfortune. 
Here she behaved so prettily, and I might say ele- 
gantly, that Colonel Lougher (who AA’as of all men 
the most thoroughly just and upright) felt himself 
bound to confess his error in taking her for a Ken- 
fig nobody. Noav, as it happened to be his birth- 
day, the lady had ordered Mr. Crumpy, the but- 
ler, to get a bottle of the choicest Avine, and put 
it into the hamper without saying any thing to 
the colonel, so that she might drink his health, 
and persuade him to do himself the like good 
turn. HaAung done this, she gave the child a 
drop in the bottom of her OAAm wine-glass, which 
the little one tossed off most fluently, and Avith a 
sigh of contentment said, 

“I’se not had a dop of that yiney-piney eA'er 
since — sompfin.” 

“Why Avhat wine do you call it, my little dear?” 
the colonel asked, being much amused with her 
air of understanding it. 

“Doesn’t a knoAv?” she replied, Avith some 
pity; “nat’s hot I calls a dop of good Sam 
Paine.” 

“Give her some more,” said the colonel; 
“upon my Avord she deserA'es it. Eleanor, you 
Avere right about her ; she is a wonderful little 
thing. ” 

All the afternoon they kept her with them, 
being more and more delighted Avith her, as she 
began to explain her opinions ; and Watty, Avho 
came to look after her, Avas sent home Avith a 
shilling in his pocket. And some of the aboA'e I 
learned from him, and some from Mr. Crumpy 
(Avho Avas a very great friend of mine), and a part 
from little Bardie, and the rest even from her 
good ladyship, except Avhat trifles I add myself, 
being gifted with poAver of seeing things that hap- 
pen in my absence. 

This poAver has been in my family for upAvard 
of a thousand years, coming out and forming 
great bards sometimes, and at other times great 
story-tellers. Therefore let no one find any fault 
or doubt any single thing I tell them concerning 
some people Avho happen just noAV to be five or 
six shelves in the Avorld above me, for I liaA'e seen 
a great deal of the very highest society Avhen I 
cleaned my earl’s pumps and epaulettes, and 
Avaited upon him at breakfast ; and I knoAv Avell 
hoAv those great people talk, not from obseiwation 
only, but by aid of my OAvn felloAv-feeling for 
them, Avhich, perhaps, owes its power of insight 
not to my own sagacity only, but to my ancestors’ 
lofty positions, as poets to royal families. Now, 
although I may haA'e mentioned this to the man 
of the Press — Avhose hat appeared to have under- 
gone Press experience — I have otherAvise kept it 
quite out of sight, because every Avriter should 
hold himself entirely round the corner, and dis- 
cover his hand, but not his face, to as many as 
kindly encourage him. Of late, hoAvever, it has 
been said — not by people of our OAvn parish, who 
have seen and heard me at the Avell and else- 
Avhere, but by persons Avith no more right than 
poAver to form opinions — that I can not fail of 


THE ^lAlD OF SKER. 


57 


% 

breaking doTSTi when I come to describe great 
people. To these my answer is quite conclusive. 
From my long connection with royalty, lasting 
over a thousand years, I need not hesitate to de- 
scribe the Frince of Wales himself; and inas- 
much as his royal highness is not of pure ancient 
British descent, I verily doubt whether he could 
manage to better my humble style to my liking. 

Enough of that. I felt doubts at beginning, 
but I find myself stronger as I get on. You may 
rely upon me now to leave the question to your 
own intelligence. The proof of the pudding is 
in the eating; and if any one fears that I can 
not cook it, I only beg him to wait and see. 

Lady Bluett was taken so much with my Bar- 
die, and the colonel the same — though he tried at 
first to keep it under — that nothing except their 
own w'ann kindness stopped them from making 
off with her. The lady had vowed that she would 
do so, for it would be so much for the little soul’s 
good ; and of course, so far as legality went, the 
chief-justice of the neighborhood had more right 
to her than a common rough farmer. But Wat- 
ty came down, being sent by Moxy, after he went 
home with that shilling, and must needs make 
show of it. He came down shyly, from habit of 
nature, to the black eyebrows of the tide, where 
the colonel and Bardie were holding grand play, 
with the top of the spring running up to them. 
She was flying at the wink of every wave, and 
trying to push him back into it; and he was 
laughing with all his heart at her spry ways and 
audacity, and the quickness of her smiles and 
frowns, and the whole of her nature one whirl of 
])lay, till he thought nothing more of his coat- 
tails. 

“ What do you want here, boy ?” the colonel 
asked, being not best pleased that a man of his 
standing should be caught in the middle of such 
antics. 

Watkin opened his great blue eyes, and opened 
his mouth as well, but„ could not get steerage- 
way on his tongue, being a boy of great rever- 
ence. ' 

“Little fellow, what are you come for?” with 
these words he smiled on the boy, and was vexed 
with himself for frightening him. 

“ Oh sir, oh sir, if you please, sir, mother says 
as Miss Delushy must come home to bed, sir.” 

“ ’E go ayay now, ’e bad Yatkin ! I ’ants more 
pay with my dear Colonel Yucca.” 

“I am not at all sure,” said the colonel, laugh- 
ing, ‘ ‘ that I shall not put her into my car and 
drive away with her, Watkin.” 

“You may go home, my good boy, and tell 
your mother that we have taken this poor little 
dear to Candleston.” This, of course, was Lady 
Bluett. 

You should have seen Watkin’s face, they told 
me, w'hen I came to hear of it. Between his ter- 
ror of giving offense, and his ignorance how to 
express his meaning, and the sorrow he felt on 
his mother’s account, and perhaps his own pain 
also, not a word had he to say, but made a grope 
after the baby’s hands. Then the little child ran 
up to him, and flung both arms around his leg, 
and showed the staunchness of her breed. Could 
any one, even of six years old, better enter into it ? 

“I yoves Yatkin. Yatkin is aye good and 
kind. And I yoves poor Moky. I ’ont go ayay 
till my dear papa and my dear mamma comes 
for me. ” 


Lady Bluett, being quick and soft, could not 
keep her tears from starting; and the colonel 
said, “It must be so. We might have done a 
great wrong, my dear. Consider all ” — and here 
he W'hispered out of Watkin’s hearing, and the 
lady nodded sadly, having known what trouble 
is. But the last words he spoke bravely, “ God 
has sent her for a comfort where He saw that it 
was needed. We must not give way to a passing 
fancy against a deep affliction ; only we will keep 
our eyes upon this little orphan darling.” 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

SOUND INVESTMENTS. 

The spring-tides led me to Sker the next day, 
and being full early for the ebb, I went in to see 
what the colonel had done. For if he should 
happen to take up the child, she would pass out 
of my hands altogether, which might of course 
be a serious injury, as well as a very great hard- 
ship. For of Moxy’s claim I had little fear, if 
it came to a question of title, inasmuch as I had 
made her sign a document prepared and copied 
by myself, clearly declaring my prior right in vir- 
tue of rescue and providential ordinance. But 
as against Colonel Lougher I durst not think of 
asserting my claims, even if the law were with 
me, and not only so, but I felt all along that 
the matter was not one for money to heal, but a 
question of the deepest feelings. 

And now the way in which Moxy came out, 
while Bardie was making much of me (who al- 
ways saw every thing first, of course), and the 
style of her meddling in between us, led me to 
know that a man has no chance to be up to the 
tricks of a female. For the dialogue going on 
between us was of the very simplest nature, as 
you may judge by the following : 

“Hy’se ’a been so long. Old Davy, afore ’a 
come to see poor Bardie?” 

“Because, my pretty dear, I have been forced 
to work all day long almost.” 

“ Hasn’t ’a had no time to pay ?” 

“ No, my dear, not a moment to play. Work, 
work, work ! Money, money, money ! Till Old 
Davy is quite worn out.” 

I may have put horns to the truth in this ; 
but at any rate not very long ones. And the 
child began to ponder it. 

“I tell ’a. Old Davy, ’hot to do. Susan say 
to me one day, kite yell, I amember, ickle Bardie 
made of money ! Does ’a sink so ?” 

“I think you are made of gold, you beauty; 
and of diamonds, and the Revelations.” 

“Aye yell! Then I tell ’a hot to do. Take 
poor Bardie to markiss. Old Davy ; and e’ get a 
great big money for her.” 

She must have seen some famous market ; for 
acting every thing as she did (by means of work- 
ing face, arms, and legs), she put herself up like 
a fowl in a basket, and spread herself, making the 
most of her breast, and limping her neck, as the 
dead chickens do. Before I could begin to laugh, 
Moxy was upon us. 

“Dyo! Why for you come again? Never 
you used to come like this. ' Put down Delushy, 
directly moment. No fish she is for you to catch. 
When you might have had her, here you left her 
..through the face of every thing. And now, be- 


58 


THE I^IAID OE SKER. 


cause great Evan’s staff is cloven, by the will 
of God, who takes not advantage of him? I 
thought you would have known better, Dyo. 
And this little one, that he dotes upon — ” 

“It is enough,” I answered, with a dignity 
which is natural to me, when females wound my 
feelings*, “Madame Thomas, it is enough. I 
will quit your premises.” With these words, I 
turned aAvay, and never looked over my shoulder 
even, though the little one screamed after me; 
until I felt Watty hard under iny stern, and like 
a kedge-anchor dragging. Therefore, I let them 
apologize; till my desire was to forgive them. 
And after they brought forth proper things, I 
denied all evil will, and did my best to accom- 
plish it. 

Mrs. Thomas returning slowly to her ancient 
style with me, as I relaxed my dignity, said that 
now the little maid was getting more at home 
with them. Mr. Thomas, after what had hap- 
pened in the neighborhood — this was the death 
of her five sons — felt naturally low of spirit ; and 
it was good for him to have a lively child around 
him. He did not seem quite what he was. 
And nothing brought him to himself so much as 
to watch this shadow of life; although she was 
still afraid of him. 

Every word of this was clear to me. It meant 
ten times what it expressed. Because our com- 
mon people have a “height of kindness,” some 
would say, and some a “depth of superstition,” 
such as leads them delicately to slope off their 
meaning. But in my blunt and sailor fashion, I 
said that Black Evan must, I feared, be growing 
rather shaky. I had better have kept this opin- 
ion quiet ; for Moxy bestowed on me such a gaze 
of pity, mingled with contempt, that, knowing what 
sort of a man he had been, I felt all abroad about 
every thing. All I could say to myself was this, 
that the only woman of superior mind I ever had 
the luck to come across, and carefully keep clear 
of, had taken good care not to have a husband, 
supposing there had been the occasion. And I 
think I made mention of her before ; because she 
had been thrice disappointed ; and all she said 
was true almost. 

However, Sker House might say just what it 
pleased, while I had my written document, and 
“Delushy” herself (as they stupidly called her, 
by corruption of Andalusia) was not inclined to 
abandon me. And now she made them as jeal- 
ous as could be, for she clung to me fast with 
one hand, while she spread the beautiful tiny fin- 
gers of the other to Moxy, as much as to say, 
“Interrupt me not; I have such a lot of things 
to tell Old Davy.” 

And so she had, without any mistake : and 
the vast importance of each matter lost nothing 
for want of emphasis. Patty Green had passed 
through a multitude of most sui-prising adven- 
tures, some of them even transcending her lar- 
ceny of my sugar. Watty had covered himself 
with glory, and, above all, little “Dutch,” the 
sheep-dog, was now become a most benevolent 
and protecting power. 

‘ ‘ Tlots ’a think. Old Davy ? Patty Geen been 
yecked, she has.” 

“ ‘Yecked!’ I don’t know what that is, my 
dear.” 

“Ness, I said, ‘yecked,’ Old Da^y; yecked 
down nare, same as Bardie was.” 

It was clear that she now had taken up with 


the story which every body told ; and she seemed 
rather proud of having been wrecked. 

‘ ‘ And Patty, ” she went on, quite out of breath ; 
“Patty ’poiled all her boofely cothes: such a 
mess ’e never see a’most ! And poor Patty go 
to ’e back pit-hole, till *6 boofely Dush yun all 
into ’e yater.” 

“Oh, and Dutch pulled her out again, did 
she?” 

“Ness, and her head come kite out of her 
neck. But Yatty put ’e gue-pot on, and make it 
much better than ever a’most.” 

“Now, Delushy, what a child you are!” cried 
Mrs. Thomas, proudly; “you never told Mr. 
Llewellyn that you ran into the sea yourself, to 
save your doll ; and drownded you must have 
been, but for our Watkin.” 

“Bardie ’poil her cothes,” she said, looking 
rather shy about it : “ Bardie’s cothes not boofe- 
ly now, not same as they used to be.” 

But if she regretted her change of apparel, she 
had ceased by this time, Moxy said, to fret much 
for her father and mother. For Watkin, or some 
one, had inspired her with a most comforting 
idea — to wit, that her parents had placed her 
there for the purpose of growing faster ; and that 
when she had done her best to meet their wishes 
in this respect, they w’ould suddenly come to ex- 
press their pride and pleasure at her magnitude. 
Little brother also would appear in state, and so 
would Susan, and find it needful to ascend the 
daiiy-stool to measure her. As at present her 
curly head was scarcely up to the mark of that 
stool, the duty of making a timely start in this 
grand business of growing became at once self- 
evident. To be “a geat big gal” was her 
chief ambition; inasmuch-as “’hen I’se a geat 
big gal, mamma and papa be so peased, and say, 
’hot a good gal ’e is, IBardie, to do as I tell ’a ! ” 

Often when her heart was heavy in the loneli- 
ness of that house, and the loss of all she loved, 
and with dirty things around her, the smile would 
come back to her thoughtfid eyes, and she would 
open her mouth again for the coarse but whole- 
some food, which was to make a “big gal” of 
her. Believing herself now well embarked to- 
wards this desired magnitude, she had long been 
making ready for the joy it would secure. “ ’E 
come and see. Old Da^y. I sow ’a sompfin,” 
she whispered to me, when she thought the oth- 
ers were not looking, so I gave a wink to Moxy 
Thomas, whose misbehavior I had overlooked, 
and, humoring the child, I let her lead me to her 
sacred spot. 

This was in an unused passage, with the end 
door nailed to jambs, and black-oak panelling 
along it, and a floor of lias stone. None in the 
house durst enter it except this little creatui-e; 
at least unless there were three or four to hearten 
one another, and a strong sun shining. The 
Abbot’s Walk was its proper name; because a 
certain Abbot of Neath, who had made too much 
stir among the monks, received (as we say) his 
quietus there during a mnter excursion ; and, in 
spite of all the masses said, could not keep his 
soul at rest. Therefore his soul came up and 
down ; and that is worse than a dozen spirits ; 
for the soul can groan, but the spirit is silent. 

Into this dark, lonely passage I W'as led by a 
little body, too newly inhabited by spirit to be at 
all afraid of it. And she came to a cupboard- 
door, and tugged, and made a face as usual. 


THE JMAID OF SKER. 


■svhen the button was hard to move. But as for 
allowing me to help her — not a bit of it, if you 
please. With many grunts and jerks of breath, 
at last she fetched it outward, having made me 
promise first not to touch, however grand and 
tempting might be the scene disclosed to me. 

What do you think was there collected, and 
arranged in such a system that no bee could 
equal it? Why, every bit of eveiy thing that 
every one who loved her (which amounts to 
every body) ever had bestowed upon her, for her 
own sweet use and pleasure, since ashore she 
came to us. Not a lollipop was sucked, not a bit 
of “taffy ” tasted, not a plaything had been used, 
but just enough to prove it ; all were set in por- 
tions four, two of which were double-sized of what 
the other two were. Nearly half these things had 
come, I am almost sure, from Newton; and 
among the choicest treasures which were stored 
in scollop-sheUs, I descried one of my own but- 
tons which I had honestly given her, because two 
eyelets had run together ; item, a bowl of an im- 
smoked pipe (which had snapped in my hand one 
evening) ; item, as sure as I am alive, every bit 
of the sugar which the Dolly had taken from out 
my locker. 

Times there are when a hardy man, at sense 
of things (however childish), which have left their 
fibre in him, finds himself, or loses self, in a sud- 
den softness. So it almost was with me (though 
the bait on my hooks all the time was drying), 
and for no better reason than the hopeless hopes 
of a very young child. I knew what all her store- 
house meant before she began to tell me. And 
her excitement while she told me scarcely left her 
breath to speak. 

‘ ‘ ’Nat for papa, with ’e kean pipe to ’moke, 
and ’nat for mamma with ’e boofely bucken for 
her coke, and ’nat for my dear ickle bother, be- 
cause it just fit in between his teeth, and ’nis with 
e’ ’ooking-gass for Susan, because she do her hair 
all day yong.” 

She held up the little bit of tin, and mimicked 
Susan’s self-adornment, making such a comic face, 
and looking so conceited, that I felt as if I should 
know her Susan anywhere in a hundred of wom- 
en, if only she should turn up so. And I began 
to smile a little ; and she took it up tenfold. 

“ ’E make me yaff so, I do decare, ’e silly Old 
Davy; I doesn’t know ’hat to do a’most. But 
’e mustn’t tell any body.” 

This I promised, and so went a-fishing, won- 
dering what in the world would become of the 
queerest fish I had ever caught, as well as the 
highest-flavored one. It now seemed a toss-up 
whether or not something or other might turn 
up, in the course of one’s life, about her. At 
any rate she was doing well, with her very bright 
spiiits to help her, and even Black Evan, so 
broken down as not to be hard upon any one. 
And as things fell out to take me from her, with- 
out any warning, upon the whole it was for the 
best to find the last sight comfortable. 

And a man of my power must not ahvays be 
poking after babies, even the best that were ever 
born. Tush, what says King David, who was a 
great-grandfather of mine ; less distant than 
Llewellyn Harper, but as much respected — in 
spite of his tijbig to contribute Jewish blood to 
the lot of us in some of his rasher moments ? But 
ancestor though we acknowledge him (when our 
neighborhood has a revival), I will not be carried ! 


59 

away by his fiime to copy, so much as to harken 
him. 

The autumn now grew fast upon us, and the 
beach was shifting; and neither room nor time 
remained for preaching under the sand-hills, even 
if any one could be found with courage to sit un- 
der them. And as the nights tunied cold and 
damp, every body grumbled much ; which was 
just and right enough, in balance of their former 
grumbli ng at the summer drought and heat. And 
it was mainly this desire not to be behind my 
neighbors in the comfort and the company of 
grumbling and exchanging grumbles, which in- 
volved me in a course of action highly lowering 
to my rank and position in society, but without 
which I could never have been enabled to tell this 
story. And yet before entering on that subject, 
every body will want to know how I discharged 
my important and even arduous duties as trustee 
through Sir Philip’s munificence for both those 
little children. In the first place, I felt that my 
position was strictly confidential, and that it would 
be a breach of trust to disclose to any person (es- 
pecially in a loquacious village) a matter so purely 
of private discretion. Three parties there were 
to be considered, and only three, whatever point 
of view one chose to take of it. The first of these 
was Sir Philip, the second the two children, and 
the third of course myself. To the first my duty 
was gratitude (which I felt and emitted abun- 
dantly), to the second both zeal and integrity ; 
and for myself there was one course only (to 
which I am naturally addicted), namely, a lofty • 
self-denial. This duty to myself I discharged at 
once, by forming a stern resolution not to charge 
either of those children so much as a single far- 
thing for taking care of her property until she was 
twenty-one years of age. Then as regards the 
second point, I displayed my zeal immediately, 
by falling upon Bunny soon after daylight, and 
giving her a small-tooth-combing to begin with, 
till the skin of her hair was as bright as a prawn ; 
after which, without any heed whatever of roars, 
or even kicks, I took a piece of holy-stone, and 
after a rinsing of soda upon her, I cleaned down 
her planking to such a degree that our admiral 
might have inspected her. She was clean enough 
for a captain’s daughter before, and dandy- 
trimmed more than need have been for a little 
craft built to be only a coaster. But now when 
her yelling had done her good, and her Sunday 
frock was shipped, and her black hair spanked 
with a rose-colored ribbon, and the smiles flowed 
into her face again with the sense of all this 
smartness, Sir Philip himself would have thought 
her consistent with the owner of five pounds ster- 
ling. 

And as touching the money itself, and the 
honesty rightly expected from me, although the 
sum now in my hands was larger than it ever yet 
had pleased the Lord to send me, for out-and-out 
my own, nevertheless there was no such thing as 
leading me astray about it. And this was the 
more to ray credit, because that power of evil, 
who has more eyes than all the angels put to- 
gether, or, at any rate, keeps them wider open, he ' 
came aft, seeing how the wind was, and planted 
his hoof within half a plank of the tiller of my 
conscience. But I heaved him overboard at once, 
and laid my course with this cargo of gold, ex- 
actly as if it werd shipper’s freight, under bond 
and covenant. Although, in downright comm9n 


60 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


sense, having Bunny for my grandchild, I also 
possessed beyond any doubt whatever belonged 
to Bunny ; just as the owner of a boat owns the 
oars and rudder also. And the same held true, 
as most people would think, concerning Bardie’s 
property; for if I had not saved her life, how 
could she have owned any ? 

So far, however, from dealing thus, I not only 
kept all their money for them, but invested it in 
the manner which seemed to be most for their 
interest. To this intent I procured a book for 
three half-pence (paid out of mine own pocket), 
wherein I declared a partnership, and established 
a fishing association, under the name, style, and 
description of “Bardie, Bunny, Llewellyn, & Co.” 
To this firm I contributed not only my industry 
and skill, but also nets, tackle, rods and poles, 
hooks and corks, and two kettles for bait, and a 
gridiron fit to land and cook with ; also several 
well-proven pipes, and a perfectly sound tobacco- 
box. Eveiy one of these items, and many others, 
I entered in the ledger of partnership ; and Moth- 
er Jones, being strange to much writing, recorded 
her mark at the bottom of it (one stroke with one 
hand and one with the other), believing it to be 
my testament, with an Amen coming after it. 

But knowing what the tricks of fortune are, 
and creditors so unreasonable, I thought it much 
better to keep my boat outside of the association. 
If the firm liked, they might hire it, and have 
credit until distribution - day, which I fixed for 
the first day of every three months. My part- 
ners had nothing to provide, except just an an- 
chor, a mast, and a lug-sail, a new net or two, 
because mine were wearing, and one or two oth- 
er trifles, perhaps, scarcely worth describing. For 
after all, who could be hard upon them, when all 
they contributed to the firm was fifteen pounds 
and ten shillings ? 

It was now in the power of both my partners 
to advance towards fortune ; to permit very little 
delay before they insisted on trebling their capi- 
tal ; and so reinvest it in the firm ; and hence at 
the age of twenty-one be fit to marry magistrates. 
And I made eveiy preparation to cany their shares 
of the profits over. Nevertheless, things do not 
always follow the line of the very best and sound- 
est calculations. The fish that were running up 
from the Mumbles, fast enough to wear their fins 
out, all of a sudden left off altogether, as if they 
had heard of the association. Not even a two- 
penny glass of grog did I ever take out of our 
capital, nor a night of the week did I lie abed, 
when the lines required attendance. However, 
when fish are entirely absent, the very best fisher- 
men in the world can not manage to create them ; 
and therefore our partnership saw the wisdom of 
declaring no dividends for the first quarter. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

A LONG GOOD-BYE. 

It is an irksome task for a man who has al- 
ways stood upon his position, and justified the 
universal esteem and respect of the neighborhood, 
to have to recount his own falling off, and loss 
of proper station, without being able to render 
for it any cause or reason, except indeed his own 
great folly, with fortune too ready to second it. 
However, as every downfall has a slope which 


leads towards it, so in my case small down-hills 
led treacherously to the precipice. In the first 
place, the dogfish and the sting-rays (which alone 
came into the nets of our new association) set me 
SAvearing very hard ; which, of course, was a tri- 
fling thing, and must have befallen St. Peter him- 
self, whose character I can well understand. But 
what was wrong in me was this, that after it went 
on for a fortnight, and not even a conger turned 
up, I became proud of my swearing with practice, 
instead of praying to be forgiven, which I always 
feel done to me if desired. For my power of 
words began to please me — which was a bait of 
the devil, no doubt — as every tide I felt more 
and more that married life had not depm'ed me 
of my gift of language ; or, at any rate, that wid- 
owership had restored my vigor promptly. 

After this, being a little exhausted, for two 
days and tAvo nights I smoked pipes. Not in 
any mood soever unfit for a Christian ; quite the 
contrary, and quite ready to submit to any disci- 
pline ; being ordered also to lay by, and expect a 
sign from heaven. And at this time came sever- 
al preachers; although I had very little for them, 
and Avas gricA^ed to disappoint their remembrance 
of the ham that my Avife used to keep in cut. 
And in so many words I said that now I aa'us 
bound to the Church by a contract of a shilling a 
Aveek, and if they Availed long enough, they might 
hear the clock strike — something. This, com- 
bined Avith a crab Avhose substance had relapsed 
to Avater, and the sign of nothing in my locker 
except a pint of peppermint, induced these excel- 
lent pastors to go ; and if they shook oft' (as they 
declared) the dirt of their feet at me, it must have 
been much to their benefit. This trifle, hoAvever, 
heaped up my grievance, although I thought scorn 
to think of it ; and on the back of it there came 
another Avrong far more serious — tidings, to Avit, 
of a Avretched AA’arrant being likely to issue against 
me from that Ioav tyrant Anthony Stew, on a thor- 
oughly lying information by one of his OAvn game- 
keepers. It Avas true enough that I Avent through 
his wood, Avith a couple of sailors from Forthcawl ; 
by no means Avith any desire to harm, but to see 
if his game was healthy. Fcav things occur that 
exalt the mind more than natural history ; and 
if a man dare not go into a Avood, hoAv can he be 
expected to improve his knowledge ? The other 
men, perhaps, employed their means to obtain a 
more intimate acquaintance Avith the structure 
and methods of A’arious creatures, going on tAvo 
legs, or going on four ; but as for myself, not so 
much as a gun did any one see in my hands that 
day. 

At first I thought of standing it out on the 
strength of all my glory ; but, knoAving Avhat tes- 
timony is Avhen it gets into the mouths of game- 
keepers, and feeling my honor concerned, to say 
nothing of the other felloAvs (avIio Avere off to sea), 
also cherishing much experience of the Avay StCAV 
handled me, upon the Avhole I had half a mind to 
let the neighborhood and the county learn to feel 
the Avant of me. 

Also, what Joe Jenkins said perhaps had some 
effect on me. This AA'as a young felloAv of great 
zeal, neAvly appointed to Zoar Chapel, instead of 
the steady Nathaniel EdAvards, Avho had been 
caught sheep-stealing ; and inasmuch as the 
chapel stood at the Avestern end of the village, 
next door to the “Welcome toToAvn, my Lads,” 
all the maids of NeAvton ran mightily to his doc- 


I 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


Cl 


trine. For he happened to be a smart young fel- 
low, and it was largely put abroad that an uncle 
of his had a butter-shop, without any children, 
and bringing in four pounds a week, at Chepstow. 

There is scarcely a day of my life on which I 
do not receive a lesson : and the difference be- 
tween me and a fool is that I receive, and he 
scoiTis it. And a finer lesson I have rarely had 
than for letting Joe Jenkins into my well-conduct- 
ed cottage, for no better reason than that the 
“Welcome to Town” was out of beer. I ought 
to have known much better, of course, with a fel- 
low too young to shave himself, and myself a good 
hearty despiser of schism, and, above all, having 
such a fine connection with the Church of En- 
gland. But that fellow had such a tongue — they 
said it must have come out of the butter. I gave 
him a glass of my choicest rum, when all he de- 
served was a larruping. And I nearly lost the 
church-clock through it. 

When I heard of this serious consequence, I 
began to call to mind, too late, what the chaplain 
of the Spitfire — 32-gun razy — always used to say 
to us ; and a finer fellow to stand to his guns, 
whenever it came to close quarters, I never saw 
before or since. “Go down, parson, go down,” 
we said; “ sir, this is no place for your cloth.” 
“Sneaking schismatics may skulk,” he answered, 
with the powder-mop in his hand ; for we had im- 
pressed a Methody, who bolted below at exceed- 
ing long range; “but if my cloth is out of its 
place. I’ll fight the devil naked.” This won over 
to the side of the Church every man of our crew 
that was gifted with any perception of reasoning. 

However, I never shall get on if I tell all the 
fine things I have seen. Only I must set forth 
how I came to disgrace myself so deeply that I 
could not hope for years and years to enjoy the 
luxury of despising so much as a lighterman again. 
The folk of our parish could hardly believe it: 
and were it to be done in any way consistent with 
my stoiy, I would not put it on paper now. But 
here it is. Make the worst of it. You Avill find 
me redeem it afterwards. The famous David 
Llewellyn, of His Majesty’s Royal Navy, took a 
berth in a trading schooner, called the Rose of 
Devon I 

After such a fall as this, if I happen to speak 
below my mark, or not describe the gentry Avell, 
eveiy body must excuse me ; for I went so low in 
my own esteem, that I could not have knocked 
even Anthony Stew’s under-keeper doAvn ! I was 
making notes, here and there, already, concerning 
the matters at Sker House, and the delicate say- 
ings of Bardie, not Avith any vieAv to a story per- 
fect and clear as this is, but for my OAvn satisfac- 
tion in case of any thing Avorth going on Avith. 
And but for this forethought, you could not have 
learned both her sayings and doings so bright as 
above. And noAv being taken aAA’ay from it, I 
tried to find some one Avith Avit enough to carry 
it on in my absence. In a populous neighbor- 
hood this might have been ; but the only man 
near us Avho had the conceit to try to carry it on 
a bit, fell into such a condition of mind that his 
OAA’n Avife did not knoAv him. But in spite of the 
open state of his head, he held on A'ery stoutly, 
trying to keep himself up to the mark Avith ale, 
and eA’en hollands ; until it pleased God that his 
second child should fall into the chicken-pox; 
and then all the neighbors spoke up so much — 
on account of his being a tailor — that it came to 


one thing or the other. Either he must giA-e up 
his trade, and let his apprentice haA^e it — to think 
of Avhicli was Avorse than gall and Avormwood to 
his Avife — or else he must give up all meddling 
Avith pen and ink and the patterns of chicken-pox. 
IIoAv could he hesitate, Avhen he kneAv that tlie 
very Avorst tailor can make in a day as much as 
the best Avriter can in a month ? 

Upon the AA’hole, I Avas pleased Avith this; for I 
never could bear that rogue of a snip, any more 
than he could put up Avith me for making my own 
clothes and Bunny’s. I challenged him once 
on a button-hole, for I was his master Avithout a 
thimble. And for this ninth part of a man to 
think of taking up my pen ! 

The name of our schooner, or rather ketch — 
for she was no more than that (to tell truth), though 
I Avished her to be called a “schooner” — Avas, as 
I said, the Rose of Devon, and the name of her 
captain Avas “Fuzzy.” Not a bad man, I do be- 
lieve, but one Avho almost drove me Avicked, be- 
cause I never could make him out. A tender and 
compassionate interest in the affairs of every body, 
Avhom it pleases ProA'idence that Ave should ev'en 
hear of, has been (since our ancestors baffled the 
Flood, Avithout consulting Noah) one of the most 
distinct and noblest national traits of Welshmen. 
Pious also ; for if the Lord had not meant us to 
inquire, He neA^er Avould have sent us all those 
fellow-creatures to arouse unallayed disquietude. 
But this man “Fuzzy,” as every one called him, 
although his true name Avas “Bethel Jose,” seem- 
ed to be sent from Devonshire for the mere pur- 
pose of distracting us. Concerning the other tAvo 
“stone-captains” (as AV'e call those skippers avIio 
come for limestone, and steal it from Colonel 
Lougher’s rocks), Ave kneAV as much as would keep 
us going AvheneA'er their names Avere mentioned ; 
but as to Fuzzy, though this AV'as the third year 
of his trading OA'er, there Avas not a woman in 
NeAvton Avho knew Avhether he had a Avife or 
not ! And the public eagerness OA’er this subject 
greAv as the question deepened ; until there Avere 
seven of our best young Avomen ready to marry 
him, at risk of bigamy, to find out the matter and 
to make it knoAvn. 

Therefore, of course, he rose more and more in 
public esteem, voyage after voyage ; and I became 
jealous, perhaps, of his fame, and resolved to ex- 
pose its holloAv basis, as compared Avith that of 
mine. Accordingly, when it came to pass that 
my glory, though still in its prime, was imperilled 
by that Irish SteAv’s proceedings — for he must 
haA'c been Irish by origin — haA’ing my choice (as 
a matter of course) among the three stone-cap- 
tains, I chose that very hard stone to crack ; and 
every one all through the village rejoiced, though 
bitterly grieved to lose me, and dreading the price 
there Avould be for fish, Avith that extortionate 
Sandy MacraAv left alone to create a moilopoly. 
There was not a man in all NeAvton that feared 
to lay half a crown to a sixpence that I brought 
back the Avhole of old Fuzzy’s concerns : but the 
AA'omen, haA’ing tried Skipper Jose Avith every thing 
they could think of, and not understanding the 
odds of betting, were ready to lay a crooked six- 
pence on Fuzzy, Avhenever they had one. 

To begin Avith, he caught me on the hop ; at 
a moment of rumors and serious Avarnings, and 
thoroughly pure indignation on my part. At the 
moment, I said (and he made me sign) that I Avas 
prepared to ship Avitb him. After Avhich he held 


C 2 


THE MAID OF SI^R. 


me fast, and fiiglitened me with the land-crabs, 
and gave me no chance to get out of his jaws. I 
tried to make him laugh with some of the many 
jokes and stories which every body knows of 
mine, and likes them for long acquaintance’ sake. 
However, not one of them moved him so much as 
to fetch one squirt of tobacco-juice. This' alone 
enabled him to take a strong lead over me. Ev- 
ery time that he was bound to laugh according to 
human nature, and yet had neither a wag in his 
nose, nor a pucker upon his countenance, nor even 
so much as a gleam in his eye, so many times I 
felt in my heart that this man was the wise man, 
and that laughter is a folly. And I had to bottle 
down the laughs (which always rise inside of me, 
whenever my joke has the cream on it) until I 
could find some other fellow fit to understand me, 
because I knew that my jokes were good. 

When I found no means of backing out from 
that degrading contract, my very first thought was 
to do strict justice to our association, and atone for 
the loss of my services to it. Therefore, in case 
of any thing undesirable befalling me — in short, 
if I should be ordered aloft with no leave to come 
down again — there I made my will, and left my 
property to establish credit, for a new start among 
them. Chairs and tables, knives and forks, and 
iron spoons, brought into the family by my wife’s 
grandfather, several pairs of duds of my own, and 
sundry poles, as before described, also nets to a 
good extent — though some had gone under usu- 
ij — bait-kettles, I forget how' many, and even ray 
character in a silk bag ; item, a great many sun- 
dry things of almost equal value ; the whole of 
which I bravely put into my will, and left them. 
And knowing that the proper thing is to subscribe 
a codicil, therein I placed a set of delf, and after 
that my blessing. Eighteen-pence I was compel- 
led to pay for this pious document to a man who 
had been tumed out of the law because he charged 
too little. And a better shilling-and-sixpence 
worth of sense, with heads and tails to it, his lord- 
ship the Bishop of Llandafi'vvill own that he never 
set seal upon, unless I make another one. Only 
I felt it just to leave my boat entire to Bardie. 

Having done my duty thus, I found a bracing 
strength upon me to go through with every thing. 
No man should know how much I felt my violent 
degradation from being captain of a gun, to have 
to tread mercantile boards ! Things have changed 
since then so much, through the parsimony of Gov- 
ernment, that our veiy best sailors now tail off" 
into the merchant service. But it was not so 
when I was 3"Oung ; and even when I was turned 
of fifty we despised the traders. Even the largest 
of their vessels, of four or as much as five hundred 
tons, we royal tars regarded always as so many 
dust-bins, with three of the clothes-props hoisted. 
And now, as I looked in the glass, I beheld no 
more than the mate of a fifty-ton ketch, for a 
thirty-mile voyage out of Newton Bay! 

However, I had lived long enough then to be 
taught one simple thing. Whatever happens, one 
ma\' descry (merely by using manly aspect) dawn- 
ing glimpses of that light which the will of God 
intended to be joy for all of us ; but so scattered 
now and vapored by our own misdoings, still it 
will come home some time, and then we call it 
“ comfort.” 

Accordingly, though so deeply fallen in my own 
regard,' I did not find that people thought so very 
much the less of me. Nay, some of them even 


drove me wild by talking of my “ rise in life” — as 
if I had been a pure nobody ! But, on the whole, 
we learned my value, when I was going away from 
us. For all the village was stirred up with desire 
to see the last of me. My well-known narratives 
at the well would be missed all through the au- 
tumn ; and those who had dared to call them 
“ lies” were the foremost to feel the lack of them. 
Especially the children cried, “Old Davy going 
to be drownded ! No more stories at the well !” 
Until I vowed to be back almost before they could 
fill their pitchers. 

These things having proved to me, in spite of 
inordinate modesty, that I had a certain value, I 
made the very best of it ; and let every body know 
how much I wished to say “ Good-bj^e ” to them, 
although so short of money. From “ Felix Far- 
ley” I had received no less than seven-and-ten- 
pence — for saving the drowned black people — un- 
der initials “D. L.” at the office; accruing, to 
a great extent, from domestic female servants. 
Some of these craved my candid opinion as to ac- 
cepting the humble addresses of colored gentlemen 
in good livery, and whether it made so much dif- 
ference. And now I thought that Newton might 
have a mark of esteem prepared for me. 

But though they failed to think of that — purely 
from want of experience — every thing else was 
done that could be done for a man who had no 
money by his neighbors wdio had less ; and six- 
pence never entered twice into the thoughts of any 
one. Richard Matthews, the pilot, promised to 
mind the church-clock for me, without even hand- 
ling my salary. As for Bunny, glorification is 
the shortest word I know. A young man, who 
had never paid his bill, put lier into two-inch rib- 
bon from the Baptist preacher’s shop. Also a 
pair of shoes upon her, which had right and left 
to them, although not marked by nature. And 
upon the front of her bosom, lace that made me 
tliink of smuggling ; and such as that j^oung man 
never could have expected to get booked to him, 
if he had felt himself to be more than a month 
converted. 

Moreover, instead of Mother Jones (who was 
very well in her way, to be sure), the foremost 
folk in all the village, and even Master Charles 
Morgan himself, carpenter and church-rvarden, 
were beginning to vie, one with the other, in desire 
to entertain lier, wuthout any word of her five- 
pound note. In short, many kind things were 
said and done; enough to make any unbashful 
man desire to represent them. But I, for my 
part, was quite overcome, and delivered my speech 
with such pow'er of doubt concerning m3' own 
worthiness, that they had to send back to the 
inn three times before they could properl v say 
“Good-bye.” 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

BRAUN TON BURRO AVS. 

The weather was still as fair as could be, with 
a light Avind from the east-north-east ; and as 
our course lay A\'est by south, and the ebb Avas 
running, Ave slipped along at the rate of six or 
seven knots an hour, though heavily laden Avitli 
the colonel’s rocks ; and, after rounding Porth- 
caAvl Point, Ave came abreast of the old Sker 
House a little after sunset. Skipper Jose Avould 
never have ventured inside the Sker-Aveathcrs, 


63 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


only that I held the tiller, and knew every vein 
of sand and rock. And I kept so close in-shore, 
because one of the things that vexed me most in 
all this sudden departure was to run away with- 
out proper ceremony from Bardie. She was cer- 
tain to feel it much, and too young to perceive 
the necessity ; and fried pudding had been prom- 
ised her at my table come the very next Sunday. 

The windows of the old gray mansion gleam- 
ed in the fading western light, but we descried 
no smoke or movement, neither any life or vari- 
ance, only a dreary pile of loneliness in the mid- 
dle of yellow sands. Then I rigged out my per- 
spective-glass, and levelled it on the cuddy chim- 
ney — for the ketch was a half-decker — to spy if 
the little one might so chance to be making her 
solitary play, as she was used to do all day, and 
most of all ere bed-time. And if she should so 
happen, I knew how wild her delight would be 
to discover a vessel so near the shore ; because 
whenever a sail went by, even at two or three 
leagues of distance, there was no containing her. 
Out she would rush with her face on fire, and 
curly hair all jogging, and up would go two little 
hands, spread to the sky and the vast wide sea. 
“ Mammy dear, I ’ants ’a so ! Dear papa, I has 
yaited so yong! Ickle bother, such a lot of 
things Bardie’s got to tell ’a!” And thus she 
would run on the brink of the waves, with hope 
and sadness fluctuating on her unformed counte- 
nance, until the sail became a speck. However, 
now I saw no token of this little rover, unless it 
were some washed clothes flapping on the rushen 
tufts to dry; and Jose called me back to my 
spell at the helm before I had finished gazing. 
And in less than half an hour the landmark of 
the ancient house was fading in the dew-fog. 

Our ship’s company amounted to no less than 
four, ail hands told — viz., Captain Bethel Jose, 
alias Fuzzy; Isaac Hutchings, the mate; my 
humble self (who found it my duty to supersede 
Ikey and appoint myself) ; and a boy of general 
incapacity, and of the name of “ Bang.” 

Making fine weather as we did, and with my- 
self at the helm all night, and taking command 
(as my skill required), we slanted across Channel 
very sweetly ; and when the gray of morning 
broke, Lundy Isle was on our lee-bow. Here- 
upon I gave the helm to old Ike, for beyond 
this was unknown to me, and Providence had 
never led me over Banistaple Bar as yet. So I 
tumbled in, and turned up no more until we 
were close on the bar itself, about ten o’clock 
of the forenoon. This is a thoroughly danger- 
ous place, a meeting of treacherous winds and 
waters, in among uncertain shoaling, and would 
be worse than our Sker-weathers if it lay open to 
south-west gales. We waited for the tide, and 
then slipped over very cleverly, with Hartland 
Point on our starboard beam ; and presently we 
found ourselves in a fine broad open water, with 
plenty of gray stretch going along it, and green 
hills tufting away from it. Every thing looked 
so mild and handsome, that I Avondered whether 
these men of Devonshire might not be such fools 
for bragging after all, when tested. 

Because, when I found no means to escape 
this degrading voyage to Devonshire, I had said 
to myself that at any rate it would enable me to 
peg down those people for the future. Not that 
they boasted, so to speak, but that they held their 
tongues at our boasts ; as much as to say, “You 


may talk if you please ; it does you good ; and 
our land is such that we neA'cr need contradict 
you.” 

But now when I saw these ins and outs, and 
ups and downs, and cornering places, and the 
wrinkles of the A'alleys, and the cheeks of the 
very rocks, set with green as bright and lively 
(after a burning summer) as our own country 
can show in May, I began to think — though I 
would not say it, through patriotic unwillingness 
— that the people who lived in such land as this 
could well afford to hold their tongues, and 
hearken our talk with pleasure. 

Captain Fuzzy said no word to shoAV that he 
was home again ; neither did he care to ask my 
opinion about the look of it. And old Ike treat- 
ing me likewise, though he ought to have known 
much better, there I found myself compelled, by 
my natural desire to know all about my fellow- 
creatures, to carry on what must have been a 
most highly flattering patronage towards the boy 
who did our slop-work, and whose name Avas 
“Bang,” because eveiy body banged him. 

This boy, forgetting the respect Avhich is due 
to the mate of a ship of commerce — for I noAv 
assumed that position legally, OA-^er the head of 
old Ikey, Avho acknoAvledged my rank Avhen an- 
nounced to him — this ignorant boy had the in- 
solence to give me a clumsy nudge, and inquire, 

“ Du ’e knaAV thiccy peart OA^er yanner ? Tllera 
down-plasses, and them zandy backs?” 

“My boy,” I replied, “I have not the honor 
of knoAving any thing about them. Very likely 
you think a good deal of them.” 

“ Whai, thee must be a born vule. Thera be 
Braunton Burrusses!” 

“Be them, indeed? Take this, my boy, for 
such A^aluable information.” And I gave him a 
cuff’ of an earnest nature, such as he rarely ob- 
tained, perhaps, and Avell calculated to be of 
timely serA’ice to him. He hoAvled a good bit, 
and attempted to kick ; whereupon I raised him 
from his natural level, and made his head ac- 
quainted Avith the nature of the foremast, pre- 
serving my temper quite admirably, but bearing 
in mind the great importance of impressing dis- 
cipline at an early age. And I reaped a Avell- 
deserved reAvard in his life-long gratitude and re- 
spect. 

While Bang went beloAV to complete his Aveep- 
ing, and to find some plaster, I began to take ac- 
curate observation of these Braunton Burrows, 
of Avhich I had often heard before from the Dev- 
onshire men, Avho frequent our coast for the pur- 
pose of stealing coal or limestone. An up-and- 
doAvn sort of a place it appeared, as I made it out 
Avith my spy-glass ; and I could not perceive that 
it beat our sands, as those good people declared 
of it. Only I noticed that these sand-hills Avere 
of a dilfei'ent hue from ours. Not so bare and 
yelloAV-faced, not so SAvept by AA’-estern Afinds, nei- 
ther Avith their tops throwm up like the peak of a 
neAv A’olcano. Rushes, spurge, and goose-foot 
grasses, and the rib-leafed iris, and in holloAV 
places cat’s-mint, loose-strife, and Ioav eye-bright 
— these and a thousand other plants seemed to 
hold the flaky surface so as not to fly like ours. 
Ike broke silence, Avhich to him Avas Avorse than 
breaking his OAvn AvindoAvs, and said that all for 
leagues around AA'as full of giants and great spec- 
tres. Moreover, that all of it long had been 
found an linked and unholy place, bad for a man 


THE MAID OF SKER. 




G4 

to walk in, and s\yamiing with great creatures, 
striped the contrary way to all good luck, and 
having eight legs every side, and a great horn 
crawling after them. And their food all night 
was known to be travellers’ skulls and sailors’ 
bones. Having seen a good deal of land-crabs, 
I scarcely dared to deny the story, and yet I 
could hardly make it out. Therefore, without 
giving vent to opinions of things which might 
turn out otherwise, I levelled my spy-glass again 
at the region of which I had heard such a strange 
account. And suddenly here I beheld a man of 
no common appearance wandering in and out 
the hollows, as if he never meant to stop — a tall 
man with a long gray beard, and wearing a cock- 
ed hat like a colonel. There was something 
about him that startled me, and drew my whole 
attention. Therefore, with my perspective-glass 
not long ago cleaned, and set ship-shape by a 
man who understood the bearings — after that 
rogue of a Hezekiah had done his best to spoil it 
— with this honest magnifier (the only one that 
tells no lies) I carefully followed up and down 
the figure, some three cables’-lengths aw'ay, of 
this strange walker among the sand-hills. We 
were in smooth water now, gliding gently up the 
river, with the main-sail paying over just enough 
for steerage-way ; and so I got my level truly, 
and could follow every step. 

It "was a fine old-fiishioned man, tall and very 
upright, with a broad ribbon upon his breast, 
and something of metal shining; and his Hes- 
sian boots flashed now and then as he passed 
along with a stately stride. His beard was like 
a streak of silver, and his forehead broad and 
white ; but all the rest of his face was dark, as 
if from foreign seiwice. His dress seemed to be 
of a rich black velvet, vefy choice and costly, and 
a long sword hung at his side, although so many 
gentlemen now have ceased to cany even a ra- 
pier. I like to see them cany their swords — it 
shows that they can command themselves; but 
what touched me most with feeling was his man- 
ner of going on. He seemed to be searching, 
ever searching, up the hills and down the hollows, 
through the troughs and on the breastlands, in 
the shadow and the sunlight, seeking for some 
precious loss. 

After watching this figure some little time, it 
was natural that I should grow desirous to know 
something more about him ; especially as I ob- 
tained an idea, in spite of the distance and differ- 
ent dress, that I had seen some one like this 
gentleman not such a very long time ago. But 
I could not recall to my mind who it was that 
was hovering on the skirts of it; therefore I 
looked around for help. Ike Hutchings, my un- 
der-mate, was at the tiller, but I durst not lend 
him my glass, because he knew not one end from 
the other; so I shouted aloud for Captain Jose, 
and begged him to take a good look, and tell me 
every thing that he knew or thought. He just 
set his eye, and then shut up the glass and hand- 
ed it to me without a w'ord and walked off, as if 
I were nobody! This vexed me, so that I hal- 
looed out : “Are all of you gone downright mad 
on this side of the Channel ? Can’t a man ask 
a civil question, and get a civil answer ?” 

“When he axeth what consarneth him,” was 
the only answer Captain Fuzzy vouchsafed me 
over his shoulder. 

I could not find it worth my while to quarrel 


with this ignorant man for the sake of a foolish 
word or two, considering how morose he w’as, 
and kept the keys of every thing. For the mo- 
ment, I could not help regretting my wholesome 
chastisement of the boy Bang; for he would 
have told me at least all he knew, if I could 
have taught him to take a good look. And as 
for Ike, when I went and tried him, -whether it 
was that he failed of my meaning, or that he 
chose to pretend to do so (on account of my 
having deposed him), or that he tnily knew noth- 
ing at all — at any rate, I got nothing from him. 
This was, indeed, a heavy trial. It is acknowl- 
edged that we have such hearts, and strength of 
good-will to the universe, and power of entering 
into things, that not a Welshman of us is there 
but yearns to know all that can be said about ev- 
ery one he has ever seen, or heard, or even 
thought of. And this kind will, instead of being 
at all repressed by discouragement, increases ten- 
fold in proportion as others manifest any unkind 
desire to keep themselves out of the way of it. 
My certy, no low curiosity is this, but lofty sym- 
pathy. 

My grandfather nine generations back, Yorath, 
the celebrated bard, begins perhaps his most im- 
mortal ode, to a gentleman who had given him a 
quart of beer, with this noble moral precept: 
“Lift up your eyes to the castle gates, and be- 
hold on how small a hinge they move! Tlie 
iron is an inch and a quarter thick, the gates are 
an hundred and fifty feet wide!” And though 
the gates of my histoiy are not quite so wide as 
that, they often move on a hinge even less than 
an inch and a quarter in thickness; though I 
must not be too sure, of course, as to the sub- 
stance of Bang’s head. However, allow even 
two inches for it, and it seems but a very trifling 
matter to tell as it did upon great adventures. 
The boy was as sound as a boy need be in a 
couple of hours afterwards, except that he had, 
or pretended to have, a kind of a buzzing in one 
ear ; and I found him so grateful for my correc- 
tion, that I could not bear to urge his head with 
inquiries for the moment. 

To Captain Fuzzy I said no more. If he 
could not see the advantage of attending to his 
own business, but must needs go out of his way 
to administer public reproof to me, I could only 
be sorry for him. To Ikey, however, I put some 
questions of a general tendency; but from his 
barbarous broken English, if this jargon could 
be called English at all — the only thing I could 
gather was, that none but true Devonshire folk 
had a right to ask about Devonshire families. 
This might be true to a certain extent, though I 
never have seen such a law laid down. The an- 
swer, however, is perfectly simple. If these peo- 
ple carry on in a manner that can not fail to draw 
public attention, they attack us at once on our 
tenderest point, and tenfold so if they are our 
betters; for what man of common sense could 
admit the idea of any body setting up to be no- 
body ; therefore I felt myself quite ready to give 
a week’s pay and victuals, in that state of life to 
which God alone could have seen fit to call me— 
as mate of that Devonshire ketch, or hoy, or tub, 
or whatever it might be — four shillings and a 
bag of suet-dumplings twice a day I would have 
given, to understand upon the spot all about that 
elderly gentleman. 

It helped me veiy little, indeed, that I kept on 


THE MAID OF SEEK. 


65 


Baying to myself, “This matters not ; ’tis a few 
hours only. The moment we get to Barnstaple 
I shall find some women ; the women can never 
help telling every thing, and for the most part ten 
times that. Only contradict them bravely, and 
they have no silence left.” However, it helped 
me not a little when Captain Fuzzy, with a duck 
of liis head, tumbled up from the cuddy, brimful, 
as we saw, of the dinner-time. A man of my 
experience, who has lived for six weeks on the 
horns of sea-snails, which the officers found too 
hard for them, that time we wei’e wrecked in the 
Palamede — what can a man of this kind feel 
when a trumpery coaster dares to pipe all hands 
to dinner? 

However, it so happened for the moment that 
what I felt was appetite ; and Fuzzy, who was a 
first-rate cook, and knew seasoning without count- 
ing, had brought an iron ladle up, so as to save 
his words, and yet to give us some idea. Soup 
it was of a sort, that set us thinking of all the 
meat under it. I blew upon it, and tasted a drop, 
and found that other people’s business would keep 
till at least after dinner. In the midst of dinner 
we came to the meeting of two fine rivers, called 
Tawe and Torridge, and with the tide still mak- 
ing strong we slanted up the former. The chan- 
nel was given to twists and turns, but the fine 
open valley made up for it, and the wealth of 
land on either side, sloping with green meadows 
gently, and winding in and out with trees. Here 
were cattle, as red as chestnuts, running about 
with tails like spankers, such as I never saw be- 
fore ; but Ikey gave me to understand that the 
color of the earth was the cause of it, and that if 
I lived long upon corned beef made of them 
(whose quality no other land could create), I 
should be turned to that hue myself. At this I 
laughed, as a sailor’s yarn ; but after regarding 
him steadfastly, and then gazing again at the 
bullocks, I thought there might be some truth 
in it. 

One thing I will say of these sons of Devon : 
rough they may be, and short of grain, and fond 
of their own opinions, and not well up in points 
of law — which is our very nature — queer, more- 
over, in thought and word, and obstinate as 
hedgehogs — yet they show, and truly have, a 
kind desire to feed one well. Money they have 
no great love of spending round the corner, nei- 
ther will they go surety freely for any man who 
is free to run ; but “ vittels,” as they call them, 
“ vittels !” — before you have been in a house two 
minutes out come these, and eat you must ! 
Happily, upon this point I was able to afford 
them large and increasing satisfaction, having 
rarely enjoyed so fine a means of pleasing my- 
self and others also. For the things are good, 
and the people too ; and it takes a bad man to 
gainsay either. > 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

A FINE SFECTACLE. 

We brought the Rose of Devon to her moor- 
ings on the south side of the river, about two 
miles short of Barnstaple, where a little bend and 
creek is, and a place for barges, and “Deadman’s 
Pill ” was the name of it. What could a dead 
man want with a pill, was the very first thing I 
asked them ; but they said that was no concern 
E 


of theirs ; there were pills up and down the river 
for miles, as well as a town called Pill Town. 
The cleverest man that I came across said that 
it must be by reason of piles driven in where the 
comers were to prevent the washing, and he 
showed me some piles, or their stumps, to prove 
it, and defied all further argument. For the 
time I was beaten, until of a sudden, and too late 
to let him know, I saw like a stupid that it must 
be no other than our own word “Pwyl,” which 
differs much from an English “ pool,” because it 
may be either dry or wet, so long as it lies in a 
hollow. And with that I fell a-thinking of poor 
Bardie and Pwyl Tavan. To be quit of remorse, 
and to see the world, I accepted old Ikey’s invi- 
tation to Barnstaple Fair for the very next day. 
We could not begin to discharge our limestone, 
as even that obstinate Fuzzy confessed, upon a 
sacred day like that. Fuzzy himself had a mind 
for going, as we half suspected, although he held 
his tongue about it ; and my under-mate told me 
to let him alone, and see what would, come of it. 

The town is a pleasant and pretty one, and has 
always been famous for thinking itself more no- 
ble than any other ; also the fair was a fine thing 
to see — full of people, and full of noise, and most 
outrageous dialect ; every body in fine broad hu- 
mor, and no fighting worth even looking at. 
This disappointed me ; for in Wales we consider 
the off-day market a poor one, unless at least 
some of the women pull caps. I tried, however, 
not to miss it, having seen in foreign countries 
people meeting peaceably. Of this I could have 
had no intention to complain to poor Ikey 
Hutchings. However, he took it as if I had, 
and offered to find me a man from Bratton, or 
himself, to have a square with me, and stake 
half a crown upon it. He must h^ve found ear- 
ly cause for repentance, if I had taken him at his 
word; but every one would have cried shame 
upon me against such a poor little fellow. And 
so we pushed on, and the people pushed us. 

After a little more of this, and Ikey bragging 
all the time, though I saw nothing very wonder- 
ful, we turned the corner of a narrow street, and 
opened into a broader one. Here there seemed 
to be no bullocks, such as had made us keep 
springs on our cables, but a very amazing lot of 
horses, trotting about, and parading, and rushing 
most of them with their tails uphoisted, as if by 
discharging tackle. Among them stood men, 
making much of their virtues, and sinking their 
faults (if they had any), and cracking a whip ev- 
ery now and then, with a style of applause to- 
wards them. 

Now I have a natural love of the horse, though 
I never served long on board of one ; and I reg- 
ularly feel, at sight of them, a desire to mount 
the rigging. Many a time I have reasoned to 
my own conviction and my neighbors’, that a 
man who can stand on the mizzen top-gallant 
yard in a heavy gale of wind must find it a ri- 
diculously easy thing to hold on by a horse Avith 
the tackle to help him, and very likely a dead 
calm all round. Nevertheless, somehow or oth- 
er, the result seems ahvays otherwise. 

I had just hailed a man with a colt to show 
off, and commodore’s pendents all over his tail, 
and was keeping clear of his counter to catch the 
rise of the wave for boarding him, when a hush 
came over all hands as if the street had been 
raked with chain-shot. And on both sides of 


66 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


the street all people fell back and backed their , 
horses, so that all the roadway stood as clear as 
if the fair had turned into a Sunday morning. 

Up the centre, and heeding the people no more 
than they would two rows of trees, came two grave 
gentlemen, daintily walking arm in arm, and 
dressed in black. They had broad-flapped hats, 
long coats of broadcloth, black silk tunics, and 
buckled breeches, and black polished boots reach- 
ing up to the buckles. 

Meanwhile all the people stood huddled to- 
gether upon the pitehed stones on either side, 
touching their hats, and scarce whispering, and 
even the showing off of the horses went into the 
side streets. 

After all the bowing and legging that I had 
beheld in the Royal Navy, the double file, the 
noble salutes, the manning of the sides and 
yai'ds, the drums, the oars all upon the catch, 
and all the other glorious things that fit us to 
thrash the Frenchmen so, there was nothing else 
left for me to suppose but that here were two 
mighty admirals, gone into mourning very likely 
for the loss of the Royal George, or come on the 
sly, perhaps, to enjoy the rollicking of the fair, and 
sinking the uniform for variety. How could I tell, 
and least of all would I think of interfering with 
the pleasure of my betters; therefore I stopped 
in my throat the cheer (which naturally seemed 
to rise the moment I took my hat off), for fear 
of letting the common people know that I under- 
stood their honors. But after looking again so 
long as one might without being inquisitive, I 
saw that neither of these great men could walk 
the deck in a rolling sea. 

I had been so bold in the thick of the horses 
that Ikey had found it too much for him always 
to keep close to me ; but now, as the nearest 
horse must have drifted the length of two jolly- 
boats away, this little sailor came up and spoke. 

“ Can ’e show the laikes of they two, in Taffy- 
land, old Taffy now ?” 

“ Plenty, I should hope,” said I (though proud 
in the end to say “ not one”); “but what a fuss 
you make! Who are they?” 

“As if thee didn’t know !” cried Ikey, staring 
with indignation at me. 

“ How should I know, when I never clapped 
eyes on either of them till this moment ?” 

“Thou hast crossed the water for something 
then, Da^y. Them be the two passons !” 

“Two passons!” I could not say it exactly 
as he sounded it. “ I never heard of two pas- 
sons.” 

“’A wants to draive me mad, ’a dooth,” said 
Ikey, in self-commune: “Did ’e never hear tell 
of Passon Chowne, and Passon Jack, man alive 
now ?” 

It was hopeless to try any more with him, for 
I could not ding into his stupid head the possi- 
bility of such ignorance. He could only believe 
that I feigned it for the purpose of driving him 
out of his senses, or making little of his native 
land. So I felt that the best thing I could do 
was to look at these two great gentlemen accu- 
rately and impartially, and thus form my own 
opinion. Hence there was prospect of further 
pleasure, in coming to know more about them. 

Verily they were goodly men, so far as the out- 
er frame goes ; the one for size, and strength, and 
stature — and the other for face, form, and quick- 
ness. I felt as surely as men do feel, who have 


dealed much among other men, that I was gaz- 
ing upon two faces not of the common order. 
And they walked as if they knew themselves to 
be ever so far from the average. Not so much 
with pride, or conceit, or any sort of arrogance, 
but with a manner of going distinct from the go- 
ing of fellow-creatures. Whether this may have 
been so, because they were both going straight 
to the devil, is a question that never crossed my 
mind, until I knew more about them. For our 
parsons in Wales, take them all in all, can hard- 
ly be called gentlemen ; except, of course, our 
own, who was Colonel Lougher’s brother, also the 
one at Merthyr Mawr, and St. Brides, and one 
or two other places where they were customers 
of mine ; but most of the rest were small farmers’ 
sons, or shop-keepers’ boys, and so on. These 
may do very well for a parish, or even a congre- 
gation that never sees a gentleman (except when 
they are summoned — and not always then) ; 
however, this sort will not do for a man who has 
served, ay, and been in battle, under two baron- 
ets and an earl. 

Therefore I looked with some misgiving at 
these two great parsons ; but it did not take me 
long to perceive that each of them was of good 
birth at least, whatever his manners afterwards 
— men who must feel thenrselves out of their 
rank when buttoned into a pulpit for reasoning 
with Devonshire plough-tail Bobs, if indeed they 
ever did so ; and as for their flocks, they kept 
dogs enough, at any rate, to look after them. For 
they both kept hounds ; and both served their 
churches in true hunting fashion — that is to say, 
with a steeplp-chase, taking the country at full 
gallop over hedges and ditches, and stabling the 
horse in the vestry. All this I did not know as 
yet, or I must have thought even more than I 
did concerning those two gentlemen. The tall- 
er of the two was as fair and ruddy, and as free 
of countenance, as a June rose in the sunshine; 
a man of commanding build and figure, but with 
no other command about him, and least of all, 
that of his own self. The other it was that took 
my gaze, and held it, having caught mine eyes, 
until I forgot myself, and dropped them under 
some superior strength. For the time I knew 
not how I felt, or what it was that vanquished 
me ; only that my spirit owned this man’s to be 
its master. Whether from excess of goodness, 
or from depth of desperate evil, at the time I 
knew not. 

It was the most wondrous unfathomable face 
that ever fellow-man fixed gaze upon — lost to 
mankindliness, lost to mercy, lost to all memory 
of God. As handsome a face as need be seen, 
with a very strong forehead and coal-black eyes, 
a straight white nose, and a sharp-cut mouth, 
and the chin like a marble sculpture. Disdain 
was the first thing it gave one to think of ; and 
after that, cold relentless humor ; and after that, 
any thing dark and bad. 

Meanwhile this was a very handsome man, as 
women reckon beauty ; and his age not over for- 
ty, perhaps ; also of good average stature, active 
and elegant form, and so on. Neither years nor 
eubits make much odds to a man of that sort ; 
and the ladies pronounce him perfect. 

When these two were gone by, I was able to 
gaze again at the taller one. Truly a goodly 
man he was, though spared from being a good 
one. He seemed to stand over me, like Sir 


THE MAID OF SEEK. 


67 


Pliilip ; although I was measured for six feet ’ 
and one inch, before I got into rheumatic ways, j 
And as for size and compass, my parents never 
could give me food to fetch out my girth, as this 
parson’s was. He looked a good yard and a half 
round the chest, and his arms were like oak 'sap- 
lings. However, he proved to be a man void of 
some pride and some evil desires, unless any body 
boro hard on him ; and as for reading the col- 
lects, or lessons, or even the burial-service, I was 
told that no man in the British realm was fit to 
say “Amen ” to him. This had something to do 
with the size of his chest, and perhaps might have 
helped to increase it. His sermons also were done 
in a style that women would come many miles to 
enjoy ; beginning veiy soft and sweet, so as to 
melt the milder ones; and then of a sudden 
roaring greatly with all the contents of enormous 
lungs, so as to ring all round the sides of the 
strongest weaker vessels. And as for the men, 
what could they think, when the preacher could 
drub any six of them ? 

This was “Parson Jack,” if you please, his 
surname being “Rambone,” as I need not say, 
unless I write for unborn generations. His bus- 
iness in Boutport Street that day was to see if 
any man w’ould challenge him. He had held the 
belt seven years, they said, for wrestling, as well 
as for bruising; the condition whereof was to 
walk the street both at Barnstaple Fair and at 
Bodmin revels, and watch whether any man laid 
foot across him. 

This he did purely as a layman might. But 
the boxing and bruising were part of his office, 
so that he hung up his cassock always for a chal- 
lenge to make rent in it. There had been some 
talk of a Cornish-man interfering about the 
wrestling; and bad people hoped that he might 
so attempt, and never know the way home again ; 
bat as for the fighting, the cassock might hang 
till the beard of Parson Jack was gray, before 
any one made a hole in. Also, the Cornish 
wrestler found, after looking at Parson Jack, 
that the wisest plan before him was to challenge 
the other Cornishmen, and leave the belt in Dev- 
onshire. 

All this I found out at a little gathering which 
was held round the corner, in Bear Street, to re- 
flect upon the business done at the fair, and com- 
pare opinions. And although I had never be- 
lield till then any of our good company, neither 
expected to see them again, there were no two 
opinions about my being the most agreeable man 
in the room. I showed them how to make punch, 
to begin with, as had been done by his royal 
highness, with me to declare proportions ; and as 
many of the farmers had turned some money, 
they bade me think twice about no ingredient 
that would figure on the bill, even half a crown. 

By right of superior knowledge, and also as 
principal guest of the evening, I became voted 
the chairman, upon the clear understanding that 
I Avould do them the honor of paying nothing ; 
and therein I found not a man that would think 
of evading his duty towards the chair. I en- 
treated them all to be frank, and regard me as 
if I were bom in Barnstaple, which they might 
look upon as being done otherwise, as the mere 
turn of a shaving ; for my father had been there 
twice, and my mother more than once thought 
of trying it. Every body saw the force of this ; 
and after a very fine supper we grew as genial as 


could be. And leading them all with a delicate 
knowledge of the ins and outs of these natives 
(many of which I had learned at the fair), and 
especially by encouraging their bent for contra- 
diction, I heard a good deal of the leading people 
in the town or out of it. I listened, of course, 
to a very great deal, which might be of use to 
me or might not; but my object was, when I 
could gather in their many-elbowed stories, to be 
thoroughly up to the mark on three points. 

First, about Fuzzy, and most important. Who 
was he ? What was he ? Where did he live ? 
Had he got a wife ? And if so, why ? And if 
not, more especially, why again ? Also, how 
much money had he, and what in the world did 
he do with it ; and could he have, under the rose, 
any reason for keeping our women so distant? 
Particularly, I had orders to know whether he 
was considered handsome by the Devonshire 
women. For our women could not make up 
their minds, and feared to give way to the high 
opinion engendered by his contempt of them. 
Only they liked his general hairiness, if it could 
be warranted not to come off. 

Upon this point I learned nothing at all. No 
man even knew Bethel Jose, or, at any rate, none 
would own to it, perhaps because Ikey was there 
to hearken ; so I left that until I should get with 
the women. My next matter was about Braun- 
ton Burrows, and the gentleman of high rank 
who wandered up and down without telling us 
why. And I might hereupon have won some 
knowledge, and was beginning to do so, when a 
square stout man came in and said, “Hush!” 
and I would gladly have thrown a jug at him. 
Nevertheless I did learn something which I mean 
to tell next to directly. 

But as concerned the third question before 
me (and to myself the most itching of any), sat- 
isfaction, to at least half-measure, was by proper 
skill and fortune brought within my reach al- 
most. And this I must set down at leisure, so- 
berly thinking over it. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

SOMETHING ABOUT HIM. 

It was of course not Parson Rambone but the 
Parson Chowne who aroused my desire of knowl- 
edge so strongly. And even here I was met at 
first by failure and disappointment. The men 
would only shake their hands and say, “Ah, he 
is a queer one!” or, “Well, well, we can’t expect 
all folk to be alike, you know ;” or even some of 
the ruder spirits, “ You had better go yourself 
and ask him” — a most absurd suggestion, for 
never yet had I seen a man less fit to encourage 
impertinence. Far more ready would I have 
been to displease even his great comrade, the 
Reverend John Rambone ; and no one who saw 
them together could doubt which of the two was 
the master. My true course was clearly to bide 
my time, and, as chairman, to enhance the good- 
will and geniality of the evening. And this I 
was ready enough to do — ay, and in the vein for 
it — bearing in mind the wisdom of enjoying to 
the utmost such favorable circumstances, to be 
on the free boot, and well received in a place en- 
tirely new to me, where I found myself so much 
ahead of every body in matter of mind, and some 
of them glad to acknowledge it ; also where no 


68 


THE MAID OF SI^ER. 


customer could be waiting to reproach me, nor 
even a justice of the peace well versed in my 
countenance ; moreover, blessed as I was with a 
sense of pit}’’ for these natives, and a largeness of 
good-will to them, such a chance had never 
crossed me since the day my wife did. 

Ikey and I had a good laugh also at that surly 
Bethel Jose, who had shouTi himself so much 
above the fair in mind, yet was there in body. 
None but Bang, the boy, had been left for captain 
and crew of the Rose of Devon, and before it ^yas 
dark we had found Bang shooting, at four shots 
a penny, for cocoa-nut slices, with ginger-beer 
poured over them. 

Now fortune stood my friend that night, for 
before we began to find ourselves in a condi- 
tion at all uproarious, lonanaged to loosen the 
tongues of these natives by means of some excel- 
lent stories. Recalling the fame of my grandfa- 
ther (that long David Llewellyn, who made on 
his harp three unconquered ballads, and won the 
first prize at all the Eistedfodds held during his 
life for Englynnions), I could not accept it as my 
business to play second fiddle. Therefore, being 
in a happy mood, I was enabled to recount such 
stories as made these Devonshire folk open their 
mouths like a man at a great rock-oyster, while 
their experience was in contention with faith and 
perhaps good manners. And as their nature is 
obstinate and most unwilling to be outdone, they 
found themselves driven down at last to tell the 
most wonderful things they knew, or else to be 
almost nobodies. And putting aside what their 
grandfathers might have seen or heard or even 
done — which is a mistake to dwell upon — all 
their stoiies worth curve of the ear were of Par- 
son Chowne, and no other. 

For this man was a man, as we say. No oth- 
er man must have a will that stood across the 
path of his. If he heard of any one unwilling to 
give way to him, he would not go to bed until 
he had taken that arrogance out of him. Many 
people, and even some of ten times his own for- 
tune, had done their "best, one after the other, 
not to be beaten by him. All of them found 
that they could not do it, and that their only 
chance of comfort was to knock under to Parson 
Chowne. And even after that had been done, 
he was not always satisfied, but let them know 
from time to time their folly in offending him. 
And most of all, he made a point (as was natural, 
perhaps) of keeping the lord bishop of the coun- 
tiy under him. Some of these had done their 
best (before they understood him) to make his 
habits hold themselves within some stretch of 
discipline ; or, if that could not be hoped, at any 
rate to keep silent. When he heard of these 
ideas he was not a little pleased, because he de- 
scried a rare chance of sport, and he followed it 
up with their lordships. The law he knew to its 
lowest tittle, and^while he broke it every day 
himself, woe to any man who dared to break it 
against him. And gradually these bishops came 
(one after the other growing a little alive to 
what the parsons were) not so much to let him 
alone as to desire his acquaintance — out of 
school, if so I may put it, in my ignorance of the 
bench of bishops. For well as I know a fish 
called “the Pope,” and also a pear said to be 
“Bishop’s Thumb,” not to mention a grass call- 
ed “Timothy,” it has not been my luck thus far 
to rise above the bench of magistrates. 


“Let be” is the wisest thing one can say; 
and so every body said of him, so soon as ever it 
was acknowledged that he could never be put 
down. And thus he might have done well 
enough if he would have been content with this. 
Only it never was his nature to be content with 
any thing, which is the only true way to get on ; 
if any one cares for that sort of thing, who knows 
mankind’s great randomness. Because the one 
who shoves and swears without being too particu- 
lar, has the best chance to hoist himself upon the 
backs of the humble. By dint of this, and to 
keep him quiet. Parson Chowne himself, they 
said, might have been bishop if so he had cho- 
sen. For this he had some fine qualifications, 
for his very choicest pleasure was found in tor- 
menting his fellow-parsons : and a man of so 
bold a mind he was, that he believed in nothing 
except himself. 

Even his own servants never knew how to come 
nigh him. One at the stables would touch his hat, 
and he would kick him for reply ; then another 
Avould come without ceremony, and he knock- 
ed him down to learn it. Also in the house, the 
maidens had the same account to give. How- 
ever much they might think of themselves, and 
adorn themselves to that estimate, he never was 
known to do so much as to chuck any one of 
them under the chin, as they had been at all oth- 
er places much in the habit of feeling ; neither 
did he make a joke to excuse himself for omit- 
ting it. As to that, they would scorn themselves 
ever to think of permitting it, being young wom- 
en of high respect, and quite aware how to con- 
duct themselves. But they might have liked to 
stop him, and they got no chance of doing it. 

All this small-talk almost vexed me more than 
the content it gave. Every now and then I could 
see the man in these little corner views, but they 
did not show me round him so as to get his girth 
and substance. “Think of the devil,” is an old 
saying ; and while I thought of him, in he walked. 

At the very first glance of him, all those peo- 
ple who had been talking so freely about him 
shrank away, and said, “ Servant, sir !” and look- 
ed so foolish more than usual, that he read them 
with one eye. He had his riding-clothes on now, 
and it made him look still sharper. 

‘ ‘ Talking of me, good people, eh ? I hope the 
subject pleases you. Open your ranks, if you 
please, and show me whether my groom is behind 
you.” He cracked a great hunting-whip as he 
spoke, and it seemed a poor prospect for the 
groom, wherever he might be loitering. 

“ Plaize your honor, your honor’s gi-oom have 
not been here all day a’most ; and if her coom’th, 
us ’ont keep un.” 

“In that resolution you are wise. What! 
you here, Welshman! I marked you to-day. 
You will come to me by noon to-morrow. Here 
is for your charges.” 

He threw on the table two crown-pieces, and 
was gone before I knew what answer I was bound 
to make to him. The men, recovering from his 
presence, ran to the window to watch him as far 
as the flaring lights of the fair, now spluttering 
I low, displayed him. W’^ithout being able to see 
so much as I strongly desired to see of him, I 
could not help admiring now his look, and his 
manner, and strong steady gait, and the general 
style of his outward man. His free way of go- 
ing along made clear the excellence of his cloth- 


THE ^lAID OF SEEK. 


C9 


ing ; and he swung his right elbow, as I was 
told, from his constant desire to lash a horse. 
He Avas the devil himself to ride, so every body 
said of him ; and Parson Chowne’s horse Avas noAV 
become a by-word for any one thoroughly thrash- 
ed. And yet no other man must ever dare to 
touch his horses. If any one did, no deadlier out- 
rage could be put upon him. 

Hearing these things from fourteen customers 
able to express their thoughts, I Avas sorry Avhen 
the comer turned upon Parson ChoAvne, so Avalk- 
ing in the light of long deal tables, set Avith fine- 
ly-guttering candles, and Avith goods not quite 
sold out. And he left upon my memory a vision 
of a great commander, haA’ing a hat of controlling 
moA’ements, and a riding-coat so shaped that a 
horse appeared to be under it ; and lower doAvn, 
huff leathern breeches, and boots Avell over the 
hinge of his legs, and silver heels, and sih^er spurs, 
and nothing to obscure him. No top-coat or out- 
er style of means to fend the AA'eather, because he 
could keep it in order alvA'ays. 

“ I Avish I Avas like him, then,” said I ; “ and 
Avhat does he mean by insulting me ? I knoAv a 
hundred bigger fellows. Am I at his beck and 
call ?” 

“I Avarr’n thou wilt be, zoon enough,” an- 
SAvered, Avith a heaAy grin, a lout of a felloAV, 
who had shoAvn no more sense than to leave the 
room at the very crash and croAvn of one of my 
best stories; “hast heered AA’hat passon have 
noAv a dooed?” He was come in primed Avith 
some rubbishing tale, and AV'anted the room to 
make much of him. NeA’ertheless the men of 
perception had not done AA’ith me yet. 

“WutteA'er be un? AvuttcA^er be im? Spak 
up, Oasler Jan!” cried some of the altogether 
younger men, who never knoAV good work from 
bad, but seek some neAv astonishment. Good- 
ness knoAvs hoAv hard it AA'as, and hoAv wholly un- 
deserA'ed, for me to withdraw and let them talk, 
only because their news AA^as neAver, and about a 
favorite man to talk of. HoAvever, I pressed 
down my feelings, not being certain about my 
bill, if I offended any one. For mercy’s sake I 
spare their brogue, and tell their story decently. 
And Hostler John’s tale Avas as folloAA's, so far as 
I could make it out, by means of good luck, and 
by Avatching his face. 

A certain justice of the peace, Avhose name Avas 
Captain Vellacott, a gentleman of spirit Avho 
liA'ed in one of the parishes belonging to this Par- 
son ChoAATie (avIio happened to have two church- 
es), this gentleman had contrived to give, as al- 
most every one managed to do, deadly offense to 
Parson Chowne. It Avas expected that the par- 
son AA’Ould be content to haA'e him doAAm and 
horsewhip him (as his manner Avas), and burn 
his house doAvn aftenvards. But the people Avho 
thought this Avere too hasty, and understood not 
his reverence. Whether from dislike of sitting 
upon the bench Avith him afterAvards, or Avhether 
because JMrs. Vellacott also had dared to shake 
hands AA'ith her gauntlet on, or because the baby 
cried Avhen offered up to kiss the parson— at any 
rate. Captain Vellacott must have more than a 
simple chastisement. The captain, being a quick, 
sharp man, who said a hot AA’^ord and forgot it, 
laughed at eveiy one Avho told him to see to him- 
self; and so on. “The parson,” said he, “is 
a man of his cloth ; so am I of mine ; and I Avill 
not insult him by expecting insult.” So it came 


to pass that he made the mistake of measuring 
another man by his OAvn measure. After a few 
months this gentleman felt that the parson had 
quite forgiven him, no cauI having befallen him 
yet, except that his rick-yard had tAvice been 
fired, and his Avife insulted by the naked people 
Avhom ChoAvne maintained upon Nympton Moor. 
And so, when they met in the fair this day, the 
captain boAved to the parson, and meant to go 
on and see to his business. But the other would 
not haA'e it so. He offered his hand most cordi- 
ally, and asked hoAv Mrs. Vellacott Avas, and all 
the five children, according to ages, using the 
Christian name of each. Captain Vellacott \A'as 
so pleased by the kindness of his memory, and 
the nobility shoAvn in dropping AvhateA'er had 
been betAveen them, that Avhat did he do but in- 
vite Master ChoAvne to dine Avith him up at the 
Fortescue Arms Hotel, and see a young horse he 
had bought in the fair, giving his OAvn for it and 
fi\'e guineas ; for he was not a rich man at all, 
and Avas come to make a moderate bargain. 

EA’eiy thing might have gone on Avell, and per- 
haps the parson really meant to forgive liim at 
the moment for having dared, in the by-gone 
matter, to have a Avill of his own almost. But, 
as bad luck Avould have it, this A’eiy horse that 
the captain had bought turned out to be one 
Avhich the parson had eye upon ever since last 
year’s hunting season. IIoAvever, not to paint the 
devil too black, it Avas confessed that he offered 
Vellacott five pounds for his bargain. This 
ought to haA’e satisfied any man who kneAV Avhat 
Parson ChoAvne was, and that fifty times five 
pounds Avould be saved by keeping out of his black 
books. NeA’ertheless the captain stuck to his 
bargain, and ruined himself. 

The tAvo gentlemen parted very good friends, 
shaking hands Avarmly, and having their joke, 
and hoping to dine again soon together; for 
Parson ChoAvne could beat all the world at af- 
ter-dinner stories; and the captain Avas the best 
man to laugh anywhere round the neighborhood. 
And so he started rather early, on purpose to 
shoAv his neAv horse to his Avife. 

But the hostler, Avho Avas a A’eiy old codger, 
and had seen a little of parson’s Avays, shook his 
head after the captainls shilling, and spat upon 
it to prevent bad luck, and laid it on the shelf 
where he kept his blacking. He Avas too cle\’er 
to say one AA’ord ; but every one remembered how 
he had behaved, and the sigh he gave, Avhen he 
reminded them. 

It may have been half an hour aftenA’ards, or 
it may have been an hour and a half (so much 
these people differed), when Captain Vellacott 
on a hurdle came to Surgeon Cutcliffe’s door, 
and the horse Avas led to Farrier Gould, Avho sent 
him to the mayor for opinions, and his AA’orship 
sent him on to Pilch of the knacker’s yard. Poor 
Justice Vellacott’s collar-bone Avas snapped in 
tAvo places, and his left thigh broken, also three 
of his ribs stoven in, and a good deal of breakage 
abroad in his head. However, they hoped that 
he might come round; and being a Devonshire 
man, he did, as I found out afteiwards. 

This tale, Avhich Hostler John delEered at ten 
times the length of the above, caused a very great 
stir and excitement and comparison of opinions. 
And Avhen these AA'iseacres had almost exhausted 
their poAA’ers of wonder, I desired to knoAv in 
the name of goodness Avhy the poor parson must 


70 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


be saddled with every man who fell off his horse. 
In the first place, he must have been far away 
from the scene of the misfortune, inasmuch as no 
more than an hour ago he was seeking his groom 
among us. And, again, what could be more 
likely than that Captain Vellacott might have 
taken, with a view to good luck for his purchase, 
a bottle or two of wine beyond what otherwise 
would have contented him ? And even if not — 
why, a horse might fall, much more a man (who 
has only two legs), without any body having de- 
signed it. 

This reasoning of mine made no impression, 
because every body’s opinion was set. “Passon 
Chowne had adooed it;” they scratched their 
heads and went into side questions, but on the 
main point all agreed — “ ’twor ayther the passon 
or the devil himzell.” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

A VISIT TO A PARSON. 

Mt opinion of Devonshire now grew fast that 
most of the people are mad there. Honest, re- 
spectable, very kind-hearted, shrewd at a bargain, 
yet trustful, simple, manly, and outspoken, never- 
theless they must be mad to keep Parson Chowne 
among them. But here, as in one or two other 
matters, I found myself wrong ere I finished with 
it. If a man visits a strange country, he ought to 
take time to think about it, and not judge the na- 
tives by first appearance, however superior he may 
be. This I felt even then, and tried my very best 
to act up to it : nevertheless it came back on me 
always that in the large county of Devon there 
were only two sound people ; Parson Chowne for 
the one — and, of course, for the other, Davy Lle- 
wellyn. 

So I resolved to see this thing out, especially 
as (when I came to think) nothing could be 
clearer than that the parson himself had de- 
scried and taken me (with his wonderful quick- 
ness) for the only intelligent man to be found. 
How he knew me to be a Welshman, I could not 
tell then, and am not sure now. It must have 
been because I looked so superior to the rest of 
them. I gazed at the two crown-pieces, when I 
came to be active again the next day ; and find- 
ing them both very good, I determined to keep 
them, and go to see after some more. But if I 
thought to have got the right side of the bargain, 
so far as the money went, I reckoned amiss con- 
siderably ; for I found that the parson lived so 
far away, that I could not walk thither and'back 
again without being footsore for a week ; and 
Captain Fuzzy w ould not alloi/ it, especially as 
he had bound me to help in mscharging cargo. 
And being quite ignorant? 'as to the road, to hire 
a horse w'ould not avaif me, even supposing I 
could stay on board of him, which w'as against 
all experience. And by the time I had hired a 
cart to take me to Nympton on the Moors, as 
well as a hand to pilot her, behold I was on the 
W'rong side of my two crowns, without any al- 
lowance for rations. They told me that every 
body always charged double price for going up 
to the parson’s, and even so did not care for the 
job much. Because, though it w^as possible to 
come back safe, there was a poor chance of do- 
ing so without some damage to man or beast, 
and perhaps to the vehicle also. 


Hereupon I had a great mind not to go ; but 
being assured upon all sides that this would be a 
most dangerous thing, as well as supported, per- 
haps, by my native resolution and habits of in- 
quiry, I nailed my colors to the mast, and mount- 
ed the cart by the larboard slings. It was a 
long and tiresome journey, quite up into a wil- 
derness ; and, for the latter part of it, the track 
could not have been found, except by means of 
a rough stone fiung down here and there. But 
the driver told me that Parson Chowne took the 
whole of it three times a week at a gallop, not 
being able to live without more harm than this 
lonely place afforded. Finding this fellow more 
ahead of his w its than most of those Devonshire 
yokels are, I beguiled the long journey by let- 
ting him talk, and now and then putting a ques- 
tion to him. He was full, of course, like all the 
town, of poor Captain Vellacott’s misadventure, 
and the terrible spell put upon his new horse, 
which had seemed in the morning so quiet and 
docile. This he pretended at first to explain as 
the result of a compact formed some years back 
betw^een his reverence and the devil. For Par- 
son Chowme had thoroughly startled and robbed 
the latter of all self-esteem, until he had given 
in, and contracted to be at his beck and call (like 
a good servant) until it should come to the settle- 
ment. And poor Parson Jack was to be thrown 
in, though not such a very bad man sometimes; 
it being thoroughly understood, though not ex- 
pressed between them, that Parson Chowne was 
to lead him on, step by step, with his own pil- 
grimage. 

All this I listened to very quietly, scarce know- 
ing what to say about it. However, I asked the 
driver, as a man having intimate knowledge of 
horses, whether he really did believe that they 
(like the swine of the Gadarenes) were laid open 
to infection from even a man with seven devils 
in him ; and the more so as these had been nev- 
er cast out, according to all that appeared of 
him. At this he cracked his w'hip and thought, 
riot being much at theology ; and not having 
met, it may be, until now, a man so thorouglily 
versed in it. I gave him his time to consider it 
out; but the trouble seemed only to grow on 
him, until he laid down his whip, and said, not 
being able to do any moi*e, “Horses is horses, 
and pigs is pigs, every bit the same as men be 
men. If the Lord made ’em both, the devil was 
sure to claim his right to take ’em both.” 

This was so sound in point of reasoning, as 
well as of what we do hear in church, that never 
another word had I to say, being taken in my 
own shallowness. And this is the only thing 
that can happen to a fellow too fond of objec- 
tions. However, the driver, perceiving now that 
he had been too much for me, was pleased with 
me, and became disposed to make it up by a 
freedom of further information. If I were* to 
put this in his own words, who could make 
head or tail of it? And indeed I could not 
stoop my pen to write such outlandish language. 
He said that his cousin was the very same knack- 
er who had slaughtered that poor horse last 
night, to put it out of misery. Having an order 
from the mayor, “Putt thiss here hannimall to 
deth,” he did it, and thought no more about it, 
until he got up in the morning. Then, as no boil- 
ing was yet on hand, he went to look at this fine 
young horse, whose time, had been so hastened. 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


71 


And the brains being always so valuable for mix- 
ing with fresh — but I will not tell for the sake of 
honor — it was natural that he should look at the 
head of this poor creature. Finding the eyes in 
a strange condition, he examined them carefully, 
and, lifting the lids and probing round, in each 
he found a berry. My coachman said that his 
cousin took these two berries out of a new hom- 
box, in which he had placed them for certainty, 
and asked him to make out what they were. 
The knacker, for his part, believed that they 
came from a creeping plant called the “ Bitter- 
sweet nightshade,” or sometimes the “Lady’s 
necklace.” But his cousin, my coachman, thought 
otherwise. He had wandered a good deal about 
in the fields before he married his young woman ; 
and there he had seen, in autumnal days, the very 
same things as had killed the poor horse — a red 
thing that sticks in a cloven pod, much harder 
than berries of nightshade, and likely to keep in 
its poison until the moisture and warmth should 
dissolve its skin. I knew what he meant, after 
thinking a while, because when a child I had 
gatliered them. It is the seed of a nasty flag, 
which some call the “Roast-beef plant,” and 
others the “Stinking Iris.” These poisonous 
things in the eyes of a horse, cleverly pushed in 
under the lids, heating and melting, according as 
the lieating and working of muscles crushed 
them ; then shooting their red fire over the ag- 
onized tissues of eyeballs — what horse would not 
have gone mad with it ? 

Also, finding so rare a chance of a Devonshire 
man who was not dumb, I took opportunity of 
going into the matter of that fine old gentleman, 
whose strange and unreasonable habit of seeking 
among those Braunton Burrows (as if for some- 
body buried there) had almost broken my rest 
ever since, till I stumbled on yet greater wonders. 
Coachman, however, knew nothing about it, or 
else ■was not going to tell too much, and took a 
sudden turn of beginning to think that I asked 
too many questions, without even an inn to stand 
treat at. And perhaps he found out, with the 
jerks of the cart, that I had a very small phial 
of rum, hot enough for two people to think of. 

He may have been bidding for that, with his 
news ; if so, he made a great mistake. Not that 
I ever grudge any thing ; only that there was not 
half enough for myself under the tiying circum- 
stances, and the man should have shown better 
manners than ever to cast even half an eye on it. 

At last we Avere forced, on the brow of a hill, 
to come to a mooring in a fine old ditch, not 
having even a wall, or a tree, or a rick of peat to 
shelter us. And half a mile away round the 
corner might be found (as the driver said) the 
rectory-house of Parson ChoAvne. Neither horse 
nor man Avould budge so much as a yard more 
in that direction, and it took a great deal to 
make them promise to Avait there till two of the 
clock for me. But I had sense enough to pay 
nothing until they should carry me home again. 
Still I could not feel quite sure hoAv far their 
courage AA'ould hold out in a lonely place, and so 
unked. 

And even Avith all that I feel Avithin me of 
royal blood from royal bards — which must be 
the highest form of it — I did not feel myself so 
Avholly comfortable and relishing as my duty is 
toAvards dinner-time. NeA’erthcless I packed up 
courage, and Avent round the corner. Here I 


found a sort of a road with fir-trees on each side 
of it, all blown one Avay by strong storms, and 
unable to get back again. The road lay not in 
a hollow exactly, but in a shallow trough of the 
hills, which these fir-trees Avere meant to fill up, 
if the Avind Avould alloAV them occasion. And 
going between them I felt the want of the pole I 
had left behind me. And if I had happened to 
own a gold Avatch, or any thing fit to breed ene- 
mies, the knoAvledge of my price AA'Ould haA^e kept 
me from such temptation of Providence. 

A tremendous roaring of dogs broke upon me 
the moment I got the first glimpse of the house ; 
and this obliged me to go on carefully, because 
of that race I haA'e had too much, and never 
found them mannersome. One huge felloAV rush- 
ed up to me, and disturbed my mind to so great 
a degree that I was unable to take heed of any 
thing about the place except his saA’age eyes and 
highly alarming expression and manner. For 
he kept on shoAving his homble tusks, and groAvl- 
ing a deep groAvl broken Avith snarls, and sidling 
to and fro, so as to get the better chance of a 
dash at me ; and I durst not take my eyes from 
his, or his fangs Avould have been in my throat 
at a spring. I called him every endearing name 
that I could lay my tongue to, and lavished upon 
him such admiration as might have melted the 
sternest heart ; but he placed no fiiith in a Avord 
of it, and nothing except my determined gaze 
kept him at bay for a moment. Therefore I felt 
for my sailor’s knife, Avhich luckily hung by a 
string from my belt ; and if he had leaped at me 
he Avould have had it, as sure as my name is 
LleAvellyn ; and feAv men, I think, Avould find 
fault Avith me for doing my best to defend myself. 
HoAvever, one man did, for a stern voice cried — 

“Shut your knife, you scoundrel! Poor 
Sammy, did the villain threaten you ?” 

Sammy crouched, and fawned, and whimpered, 
and Avent on his belly to lick his master, Avhile I 
Aviped the perspiration of my fright beneath my 
hat. 

“This is a nice way to begin,” said ChoAA'ne, 
after giving his dog a kick, “ to come here and 
draw a knife on my A’ery best dog. Go doAvn on 
your knees, sir, and beg Sammy’s pardon.” 

“May it please your reA'erence,” I replied, in 
spite of his eyes, which lay fiercer upon me than 
even those of the dog had done, “ I would have 
cut his throat ; and I Avill, if he dares to touch 
me. 

“That Avould grieve me, my good Welshman, 
because I should then let loose the pack, and we 
might have to buiy you. IIoAvever, no more of 
this trifle. Go in to my housekeeper, and recoA'- 
er your nerves a little, and in half an hour come 
to my study.” 

I touched my hat and obeyed his order, follow- 
ing the track which he pointed out, but keeping 
still ready for action if any more dogs should 
bear doAvn on me. However, I met no creature 
Avorse than a very morose old woman, who mere- 
ly grunted in reply to the very best flourish I 
could contrive, and led me into a long low kitch- 
en. Dinner-time for the common people being 
noAV at maturity, I expected to see all the sen - 
ants, of course, and to smell something decent 
and gratifying. However, there Avas no such 
luck, only, Avithout even asking my taste, she 
gave me a small jug of sour ale, and the bottom 
i of a loaf, and a bit of Dutch cheese. Of course 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


72 

tliis was good enough for me ; and having an ap- 
j vitite after the ride, I felt truly grateful. How- 
ever, I could not help feeling also that in the 
cupboard just over my elbow there lay a fillet of 
fine spiced beef, to which I have always been 
partial. And after the perils I had encountered, 
the least she could do was to offer it down. Any- 
where else I might have taken the liberty of sug- 
gesting this, but in that house I durst not, further 
than to ask, very delicately — 

“Madam, it is early for great people ; but has 
his reverence been pleased to dine ?” 

“Did he give you leave to ask, sir?” 

“ No, I can not say that he did. I meant no 
offense ; but only — ” 

“ I mean no offense ; but only, you must be a 
stranger to think of asking a question in this 
house without his leave.” 

Nothing could have been said to me more thor- 
oughly grievous and oppressive. And she offered 
no line or opening for me to begin again, as cross 
women generally do, by not being satisfied with 
their sting. So I made the best of my bread- 
and-cheese, and thought that Sker House was a 
])aradise compared to Nympton Rectory. 

“ It is time for you now to go to my master,” 
she broke in, with her cold, harsh voice, before I 
had scraped all the rind of my cheese, and when 
I was looking for more sour beer. 

“ Very well,” I replied ; “ there is no tempta- 
tion of any sort, madam, to linger here. ” 

She smiled, for the first time, a very tart smile, 
even worse than the flavor of that shrewd ale, 
but without its weakness. And then she pointed 
up some steps, and along a stone passage, and 
said, exactly as if she took me for no more than 
a common tramp — 

“At the end of that passage turn to the left, 
and knock at the third door round the corner. 
You dare not lay hands on any thing. My mas- 
ter will know it if you do. ” 

This was a little too much for me, after all the 
insults I had now put up with. I turned and 
gazed full on her strange square face, and into the 
depth of her narrow black eyes, with a glimpse 
of the window showing them. 

“Your master!” I said. “Your son, you 
mean ! And much there is to choose between 
you !” 

She did not betray any signs of surprise at this 
hap-hazard shot of mine, but coldly answered my 
gaze, and said — 

“You are very insolent. Let me give you a 
warning. You seem to be a powerful man : in 
the hands of my master you would be a babe, al- 
though you are so much larger. And were I to 
tell him what you have said, there would not be 
a sound piece of skin on you. Now, let me hear 
no more of you.” 

‘^With the greatest pleasure, madam. I am 
sure I can’t understand whatever could bring me 
here.” 

“ But I can,” she answered, more to her own 
thoughts than to mine, as she shut the door quite 
on my heels, and left me to my own devices. I 
felt almost as much amiss as if I were in an evil 
dream of being chased through caves of rock by 
some of my very best customers, all bearing red- 
hot toasting-forks, and pelting me with my own 
good fish. It is the very worst dream I have, 
and it never comes after a common supper ; 
which proves how clear my conscience is. And 


even now I might have escaped, ‘because there 
were side passages ; and for a minute I stood in 
doubt, until there came into my mind the tales 
of the pack of hounds he kept, and two or three 
people tom to pieces, and nobody daring to inter- 
fere. Also, I wanted to see him again, for he 
beat every body I had ever seen ; and I longed 
to be able to describe him to a civilized audience 
at the “Jolly Sailors.” Therefore I knocked at 
the door of his room, approaching it very care- 
fully, and thanking the Lord for his last great 
mercy in-having put my knife into my head. 

“ "You may come in,” was the answer I got at 
last ; and so in I went ; and a queerer room I 
never did go into. But wonderful as the room 
was surely, and leaving on memory a shade of 
half-seen wonders afterwards, for the time I had 
no power to look at any thing but the man. 

People may laugh (and they always do until 
they gain experience) at the idea of one man 
binding other men prisoners to his will. For all 
their laughing, there stands the truth ; and the 
men who. resist such infiuence best are those who 
do not laugh at it. I have seen too much of the 
tricks of the world to believe in any thing super- 
natural ; but the granting of this power is most 
strictly within nature’s scope; and somebody 
must have it. One man has the gift of love, that 
every body loves him ; another has the gift of 
hate, that nobody comes near him : the third, 
and far the rarest gift, combines the two others 
(one more, one less), and adds to them both the 
gift of fear. I felt, as I tried to meet his gaze, 
and found my eyes quiver away from it, that the 
farther I kept from this man’s sight, the better it 
would be for me. 

He sat in a high-backed chair, and pointed to 
a three-legged stool, as much as to say, “You 
may even sit down.” This I did, and waited for 
him. 

“Your name is David Llewellyn,” he said, 
caring no more to look at me ; “you came from 
the coast of Glamorgan, three days ago, in the 
Rose of Devon schooner.” 

“ Ketch, your reverence, if you please. The 
difference is in the mizzen-mast.” 

“ Well, Jack Ketch, if you like, sir. No more 
interrupting me. Now you will answer a few 
questions ; and if you tell me one word of false- 
hood—” 

He did not finish his sentence, but he fi ighten- 
ed me far more than if he had. I promised to 
do my best to tell the truth, so far as lies in me. 

“ Do you know what child that was that came 
ashore, drowned, upon your coast when the cor- 
oner made such a fool of himself?” 

‘ ‘ And the jury as well, your reverence. About 
the child I know nothing at all.” 

“ Describe that child to the best of your pow- 
er ; for you are not altogether a fool.” 

I told him what the poor babe was like, so far 
as I could remember it. But something holy 
and harmless kept me from saying one word about 
Bardie. And to the last day of my life I shall 
rejoice that I so behaved. He saw that 1 was 
speaking truth ; but he showed no signs of joy 
or sorrow, until I ventured to put in — 

“May I ask why your reverence wishes to 
know, and what you think of this matter, and 
how—” 

“ Certainly you may ask, Llewellyn ; it is a 
woman’s and a Welshman’s privilege ; but cer- ’ 


THE MAID OF SKEE. 


73 


tainly you shall have no reply. "What inquiry 
has been made along your coast about this af^ 
fair ?” 

I longed to answer him in my humor, even as 
he had answered me. With any one else I 
could have done it, but I durst not so with him. 
Therefore I told him all the truth, to the utmost 
of my knowledge — making no secret of Heze- 
kiah and his low curiosity ; also the man of the 
press, with the hat ; and then I could not quite 
leave out the visit of Anthony Stew and Sir 
Philip. 

This more than any thing else aroused Parson 
Chowne’s attention. For the papers he cared 

not a d , he said; for two of them lived by 

abusing him ; but as he swore not (except that 
once), it appeared to me that he did care. How- 
ever, he pressed me most close and hard about 
Anthony Stew and Sir Philip. 

When he had got from me all that I knew — 
except that he never once hit upon Bardie (the 
heart and the jewel of every thing) — he asked me, 
without any warning — 

“Do you know who that Sir Philip is ?” 

“ No, your reverence ; I have not even heard 
so much as his surname, although, no doubt, I 
shall find out.” 

“You fool! Is that all the wit you have? 
Three days in and out of Barnstaple ! It is Sir 
Philip Bampfylde, of Namton Court, close by 
you.” 

“ There is no Namton Court, that I know of, 
your reverence, anywhere round our neighbor- 
hood. There is Candleston Court, and Court 
Ysha, and Court — ” 

“ Tush ! I mean near where your ship is lying. 
And that is chiefly what I want with you. I 
know men well ; and I know that you are a man 
that will do any thing for money.” 

My breath was taken away at this, so far was 
it from my true character. I like money well 
enough, in its way ; but as for a single disgrace- 
ful action — 

“Your reverence never made such a mistake. 
For coming up here I have even paid more than 
you were pleased to give nie. If that is your 
point, I will go straight back. Do any thing, 
indeed, for money ! ” 

‘ ‘ Pooh I This is excellent indignation. What 
man is there but will do so? I mean, of course, 
any thing you consider to be right and virtuous.” 

“Any thing which is undeniably right, and up- 
right, and virtuous. Ah ! now your reverence 
understands me. Such has always been my char- 
acter.” 

“In your own opinion. Well, self-respect is 
a real blessing : I will not ask you to forego it. 
Your business will be of a nature congenial as 
well as interesting to you. Your ship lies just 
in the right position for the service I require ; 
and as she is known to have come from Wales, 
no revenue-men will trouble you. You will have 
to keep watch, both day and night, upon Sir Phil- 
ip and Namton Court.” 

“Nothing in the nature of spying, your rever- 
ence, or sneaking after servants, or underhand 
work — ” , 

“Nothing at all of that sort. You have noth- 
ing to do but to use your eyes upon the river- 
front of the building, especially the landing-place. 
You will come and tell me as soon as ever you I 
see any kind of boat or vessel either come to or 1 


leave the landing-place. Also, if any man with 
a trumpet hails either boat or vessel. In short, 
any kind of communication between Namton 
Court and the river. You need not take any 
trouble, except when the tide is up the river.” 

“Am I to do this against Sir Philip, who has 
been so kind and good to me? If so, I will hear 
no more of it.” 

“Not so; it is for Sir Philip’s good. He is 
in danger, and very obstinate. He stupidly med- 
dles with politics. My object is to save him.” 

“I see what your reverence means,” I an- 
swered, being greatly relieved by this ; for then 
(and even to this day, I believe) many of the an- 
cient families were not content with his gracious 
majesty, but hankered after ungracious Stuarts, 
mainly because they could not get them. “I 
will do my best to oblige you, sir.” I finished, 
and made a bow to him. 

“ To obey me, you mean. Of course you will. 
But remember one thing — you are not to dare to 
ask a single word about this family, or even men- 
tion Sir Philip’s name to any body except myself. 
I have good reason for this order. If you break 
it I shall know it, and turn you to stone immedi- 
ately. You are aware that I possess that power.” 

“Please your reverence, I have heard so ; and 
I would gladly see it done — not to myself as yet, 
but rather to that old woman in the kitchen. It 
could not make much difference to her.” 

“Keep your position, sir,” he answered, in a 
tone which frightened me; it was not violent, 
but so deep. “And now for your scale of wages. 
Of course, being opposite that old house, you 
would watch it without any orders. The only 
trouble I give you is this — when the tide runs up 
after dark, and smooth water lets vessels over the 
bar, you will have to loosen your boat or dingy, 
punt, or whatever you call her, and pull across 
the river, and lie in a shaded corner which you 
will find below Namton Court, and commanding 
a view of it. Have you fire-arms? Then take 
this. The stock is hollow, and contains six 
charges. You can shoot ; I am sure of that. I 
know a poacher by his eyelids.” 

He gave me a heavy two-barrelled pistol, long 
enough for a gun almost, and meant to be fired 
from the shoulder. Then pressing a spring in 
the stock, he laid bare a chamber containing 
some ammunition, as well as a couple of spare 
flints. He was going to teach me how to load 
it, till I told him that I had been captain of can- 
non, and perhaps the best shot in the royal navy. 

“Then don’t shoot yourself,” he said, “as 
most of the old sailors have reason to do. But 
now you will earn your living well, what with 
your wages on board the schooner, and the crown 
a week I shall give you.” 

“A crown a week, your reverence!” My 
countenance must have fallen sadly ; for I look- 
ed to a guinea a week at least. “And to have 
to stay out of my bed like that ! ” 

“ It is a large sum, I know, Llewellyn. But 
you must do your best to earn it, by diligence 
and alacrity. I could have sent one of my fine 
naked fellows, and of course not have paid him 
any thing. But the fools near the towns are so 
fidgety now that they stare at these honest Ad- 
amites, and talk of them — which would defeat 
my purpose. Be off with you ! I must go and 
see them. Nothing else refreshes me after talk- 
ing so long to a fellow like you. Here are two 


74 : 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


guineas for you — one in advance for your first 
month’s wage; the other you will keep until I 
have done with you, and then return it to me.” 

“A month, your honor!” I cried in dismay. 
“I never could stop in this country a month. 
Why, a week of it would be enough to drive me 
out of my mind almost.” 

“You will stay as long as I please, Llewel- 
lyn. That second guinea, which you pouched so 
promptly, is to enable you to come to me, by day 
or by night, on the very moment you see any 
thing worth reporting. You are afraid of the 
do^s? Yes, all rogues are. Here, take this 
w'histle. They are trained to obey it — they will 
crouch and fawn to you when you blow it.” He 
gave me a few more minute instructions, and then 
showed me out by a little side-door ; and all the 
w’ay back such a weight was upon me, and con- 
tinual presence of strange black eyes, and dread 
of some hovering danger, that I answered the 
driver to never a word, nor cared for any of his 
wondrous stories about the naked people (whose 
huts w’e beheld in a valley below us) ; nay, not 
even — though truly needing it, and to my own 
great amazement — could I manage a drop of my 
pittance of rum. So the driver got it, after all, 
or at least whatever remained of it, while I 
wished myself back at old Newton Nottage, and 
seemed to be wrapped in an evil dream. Both 
horse and driver, however, found themselves not 
only thankful, but light-hearted, at getting away 
from Nympton Moor. Jack even sang a song 
when five miles off, and in his clumsy way ral- 
lied me. But finding this useless, he said that 
it was no more than he had expected ; because 
it was known that it always befell every man 
who forgot his baptism, and got into dealings 
witli Parson Chowne. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

ON DUTY. 

There are many people w’ho can not enter 
into my meaning altogether. This I have felt 
so often that now I may have given utterance to 
it once, or possibly twice before. If so, you will 
find me consistent wholly, and quite prepared to 
abide by it. In all substantial things I am clear- 
er than the noonday sun itself; and to the very 
utmost farthing, righteous and unimpeachable. 
Money I look at, now and then, when it comes 
across me ; and I like it well enough for the sake 
of the things it goes for. But as for committing 
an action below the honor of my family and an- 
cestors (who never tuned their harps for less 
than a mark a night), also, and best of all, my 
own conscience — a power that thumps all night 
like a ghost if I have not strictly humored it — 
for me to talk of such things seems almost to de- 
grade the whole of them. 

Therefore, if any one dreams, in his folly, that 
I would play the spy upon that great house over 
the river, I have no more to say, except that he 
is not worthy to read my tale. I regard him with 
contempt, and loathe him for his vile insinuations. 
Such a man is only fit to take the place of a spy 
himself, and earn perhaps something worth talk- 
ing of, if his interest let him talk of it. For tak- 
ing friendly observation of Narnton Court, for its 
inmates’ sake, I was to have just five shillings a 
week ! 


It became my duty now to attend to the get- 
ting out of the limestone ; and I fetched it up 
with a swing that shook every leaf of the Rose of 
Devon. Fuzzy attempted to govern me ; but I 
let him know that I would not have it, and nev- 
er knocked under to any man. And if Parson 
Chowne had come alongside, I w’ould have said 
the same to him. 

Nevertheless, as an honest man, I took good 
care to earn my money, though less than the val- 
ue of one good sewin, or at any rate of a fine tur- 
bot, eacli week. No craft of any sort went up or 
down that blessed river without my laying per- 
spective on her, if there chanced to be light 
enough ; or if she slipped along after dark — 
which is not worth while to do, on account of the 
shoals and windings — there was I, in our little 
dingy, not so far off as they might imagine. 
And I could answer for it, even with disdainful 
Chowne looking down through me, that nothing 
larger than a row-boat could have made for Nani- 
ton Court. But I have not said much of the riv- 
er as yet, and who can understand me ? 

( This river bends in graceful courtesies to the 
sweet land it is leaving, and the hills that hold 
its birth, y Also, with a vein of terror at the un- 
known sea before it, back it comes, when you 
grieve to think that it must have said “good- 
bye ” forever. Such a lovely winding river, with 
so many willful ways, silvery shallows, and deep, 
rich shadows, where the trees come dowii to 
drink ; also, beautiful bright - green meadows, 
sloping to have a taste of it, and the pleaches of 
bright sand offered to satisfy the tide, and the 
dark points jutting out on purpose to protect it ! 
Many rivers have I seen, nobler, grander, more 
determined, yet among them all not one that took 
and led my heart so. 

Had I been born on its banks, or among the 
hills that gaze down over it, what a song I would 
have made to it ! — although the Bardic inspira- 
tion seems to have dropped out of my generation, 
yet will it return with fourfold vigor, probably in 
Bunny’s children, if she ever has any, that is to 
say, of the proper gender ; for the tlmmb of a 
woman is weak on the harjj. And Bunny’s only 
aspiration is for ribbons and lollipops, which must 
be beaten out of her. 

However, my principal business now was not 
to admire this river, but watch it ; and sometimes 
I found it uncommonly cold, and would gladly 
have had quite an ugly river, if less attractive to 
white frosts. And what with the clearing of our 
cargo, and the grumbling afterwards, and the 
waiting for sailing orders, and never getting any, 
and the setting-in of a sudden gale (which, but 
for me, must have capsized us when her hold was 
empty), as well as some more delays which now 
I can not stop to think of — the middle of Octo- 
ber found us still made fast, by stem and stern, 
in Barnstaple River, at Headman’s Pill. 

Parson Chowne (who never happened to neg- 
lect a single thing that did concern his interests, 
any more than he ever happened to forget an in- 
jury), twice or thrice a week he came, mounted 
on his coal-black mare, to know what was going 
on with us. I saw — for I am pretty sharp, 
though not pretending to vie with him, as no man 
might who had not dealt in a wholesale mode 
with the devil — I saw (though the clumsy under- 
strappers meant me not to notice it) that Betliei 
Jose, our captain, was no more than a slave of the 


THE MAID OF SEEK. 


75 


parson’s. This made clear to me quite a lump 
of wliat had seemed hopeless mysteries. Touch- 
ing my poor self, to begin with, Chowne knew all 
about me, of course, by means of this dirty Fuz- 
zy. Also Fuzzy’s silence now, and the difficulty 
of working him (with any number of sheets in the 
wind), whicfe had puzzled both Newton and Not- 
tage and the two public-houses at Forthcawl, 
and might have enabled him to marry even a 
tanner’s widow with a rabbit-wanen, and £350 
to dispose of, and a reputation for sheep’s-milk 
cheese, and herself not bad-looking, in spite of a 
beard. 

I could see, and could carry home the truth, 
having thoroughly got to the bottom of it ; and 
might have a chance myself to settle, if I dealt 
my secret w^ell, with some of the women who had 
sworn to be single, until that Fuzzy provoked 
them so. This consideration added, more than 
can be now described, to my desire to get home 
before any one got in front of me. But Fuzzy, 
from day to day, pretended that the ketch was 
not victualled to sail, any more than she was 
even ballasted. Sl« must load with hay, or with 
bricks, or pottery, or with something to fill her 
hold and pay freight, or what w'as to fill our bel- 
lies all the w-ay back ? And so on, and so on ; 
until I W'as sure that he had some dark reason 
for lingering there. 

Of course I had not been such a pure fool — in 
spite of short reasons for going from home — as to 
forget my desire and need to come home, after 
proper interval. The whole of the parish w ould 
yearn for me, and so w ould Ewenny and Llales- 
ton, long ere the Christmas cod comes in : and I 
made a point in my promises to be back before 
Gunpowder Treason and Plot. As a thoroughly 
ancient hand at the cannon, I ahvays led the fire- 
works ; and the pope having done something 
violent lately, they w’ere to be very grand this 
year. What is a man when outside his ow'n 
country — a prophet, a magistrate, even a sailor, 
w ho has kept well in with his relations ? All his 
old friends are there, longing to praise him, w hen 
they hear of good affairs ; and as to his enemies 
— a man of my breadth of nature has noncj^^^ 

This made it dreadfully grievous for me not to 
be getting home again ; and my heart w'as like 
a sprouted onion when I thought of Bardie. 
Bunny would fight on, I knew, and get convert- 
ed to the Church in the house of our church- 
warden, and perhaps be baptized after all, w’hich 
my wife never would have done to her. How'- 
ever, I did not care for that, because no great 
harm could come of it; and if the Primitives 
gave her ribbons, the Church w'ould be bound to 
grant Honiton lace. 

Thinking of all my engagements, and compacts, 
and serious trusteeships, and the many yearn- 
ings after me, I told Bethel Jose, in so many 
W’ords, that I was not a black man, but a white 
man, unable to be trampled on, and prepared 
(unless they could show me better) to place my 
matter in the hands of his w'orship, no less than 
the Mayor of Barnstaple. Fuzzy grinned, and 
so did Ike ; and finding the mayor sitting hand- 
somely upon the very next market-day, I laid my 
case before him. His w'orship (as keeping a gro- 
cer’s shop, at which I had bought three pounds 
of onions, and a quarter of a pound of speckled 
cheese, and half an ounce of tobacco) w'as much 
inclined to do me justice ; and, indeed, began to 


do so in a loud and powerful voice, and eager for 
people to hearken him. But somebody whisper- 
ed something to him, containing, no doubt, the 
great parson’s name, and he shrank back into his 
hole, and discharged my summons, like a worm 
with lime laid on his tail. 

Such things are painful ; yet no man must in- 
sist upon them hardly, because our ancestors got 
on among far greater hardships. And it would 
prove us a bad low age if we turned sour about 
them. We are the finest fellows to fight that 
were ever according to Providence ; we ought to 
be thankful for this great privilege (as I meaiii to 
show by-and-by), and I would not shake hands 
with any man who for trumpery stuff would dare 
to make such a terrible force internal. 

This grand soundness of my nature led me to 
go under orders, though acquit of legal contract, 
only seeking to do the right while receiving the 
money beforehand. Now this created a position 
of trust, for it involved a strong confidence in 
one’s honor. Any man paying me beforehand 
places me at a disadvantage, which is hardly fiur 
of him. I do not like to refuse him, because it 
would seem so ungraceful ; and yet I can never 
be sure but that I ought to take consideration. 

Not to dwell too much upon scruples which 
scarcely any one else might feel, and no other 
man can enter into, be it enough that my honor 
now was bound to do what was expected. But 
what a hardship it w'as, to be sure, to find myself 
debarred entirely from forming acquaintance, or 
asking questions, or going into the matter in my 
ow'n style ! especially now that my anxiety was 
quickened beyond bearing to get to the bottom 
of all these wonders about Sir Philip Bampfylde. 
What had led him to visit me ? What was he 
seeking on Braunton Burrows — for now' I knew 
that it must be he? Why did Parson Chowne 
desire to keep such watch on the visitors to Nam- 
ton Court by water, while all the w'orld might 
pass into or out of the house by land ? Or did 
the parson keep other people watching the other 
side of the house, and prevent me from going 

S r them, lest w'e should league together to 
at him? This last thing seemed to be very 
:ly, and it proved to be more than that. 
Revolving all this much at leisure in the quiet 
churn of mind, I pushed off with my little dingy 
from the side of the Rose of Devon, w'hen the 
evening dusk was fiilling, somewhere at October’s 
end. This little boat now seemed to be placed 
at my disposal always, although there used to be 
such a fuss, and turn for turn, in taking her. 
Now the glance of light on water, and the flow'- 
ing shadows, keeping humor with the quiet play' 
of evening breezes, here a hill and there a tree or 
rock to be regarded, while the strong influx of 
sea with white w'isps traced the middle channel, 
and the little nooks withdrawn under gentle 
promontories took nO heed of any thing ; w'hen 
the moon came over these, dissipating clouds and 
moving sullen mists aside her track, I found it 
uncommonly difficult to be sure what I was up 
to. The full moon, lately risen, gazed directly 
down the river; but memory of daylight still 
W'as coming from the westw'ard, feeble, and in- 
clined to yield. What business w'as all this of 
mine? God makes all things to have turn; 
and I doubt if He ever meant mankind to be al- 
ways spying into it. Ever so much better go these 
things without our bother ; and our parson said, 


76 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


being a noble preacher, and fit any day for the 
na^y, that the people wlio conquered the world ac- 
cording to the Prophet Joel — 20th after Trinity — 
never noticed nature, never did consult the Lord 
of Hosts, and yet must have contented him. 

Difficult questions of this color must be left to 
parsons (who beat all lawyers, out and out, in the 
matter of pure cleverness ; because the latter nev- 
er can anyhow, but the former, somehow, with 
the greatest ease, reconcile all difficulties). The 
only business I have to deal with is what I bodily 
see, feel, and hear, and have mind to go through 
with, and w'ork out to perfect satisfaction. And 
this night I found more than ever broke upon my 
wits before, except when muzzle gapes at muzzle, 
and to blow or be blown up depends upon a sin- 
gle spark. 

Because now, in my quiet manner (growing to 
be customary, under Parson Chowne’s regard) 
dipping oars, I crossed the river, making slant 
for running tide. That man, knowing every 
body who might suit his purpose, had employed 
me rather than old Ikey, or even Fuzzy, partly 
because I could row so well, and make no sound 
in doing it ; while either of them, with muffled 
rowlocks, would splash and grunt, to be heard 
across river, and half-way to Barnstaple Bridge 
almost. As silently as an owl I skimmed across 
the silent river, not with the smallest desire to 
spy, but because the poetry of my nature came 
out strongly. And having this upon me still, I 
rowed my boat into a drooping tree, overhanging 
a quiet nook. Here I commanded the river-front 
of all that great house, Nam ton ^ Court, which 
stands on the north side of the water over against 
our Dead-man’s Pill. After several voyages un- 
der sundry ^states of light and weather, this was 
now approved to me as the very best point of ob- 
servation. For all the long and straggling house 
(quite big enough for any three of the magis- 
trates’ houses on our side) could have been taken 
and raked (as it were) like a great ship with her 
stern to me, from the spot where I lay hidden. 
Such a length it stretched along, with little ex- 
cept the west end to me, and a show of front- 
windows dark and void; and all along the river- 
terrace, and the narrow spread of it, overlooking 
the bright water, pagan gods, or wicked things 
just as bad, all standing. However, that was 
not my business ; if the gentry will forego the 
whole of their Christianity, they must answer for 
themselves, when the proper time appears. Only 
we would let them know that we hold aloof from 
any breach of their commandments. 

A flight of ten wild ducks had been seen com- 
ing up the river, every now and then, as well as 
fourteen red-caps, and three or four good wisps 
of teal. Having to see to my victualling now, 
as well as for the sport of it, I loaded the parson’s 
two-foot pistol, which was as good as a gun al- 
most, with three tobacco-pipes full of powder 
poured into each barrel, and then a piece of an 
ancient hat (which Ikey had worn so long that 
no man could distinguish it from w’adding), and 
upon the top of the hat three ounces of leaden 
pellets, and all kept tight with a good dollop of 
oakum. It must kill a wild duck at forty yards, 
or a red-cap up to fifty, if I hit the rogues in the 
head at all. 

The tide must have been pretty nigh the 
flood, and the moon was rising hazil}’’, and all 
the river was pale and lonely, for the brown- 


sailed lighters (which they call the “Tawton 
fleet ”) had long passed by, when I heard that 
silvery sound of swiftness cleaving solitude — the 
flight of a wedge of wild ducks. I knelt in the 
very smallest form that nature would allow of, 
and with one hand held a branch to keep the 
boat from surging. Plash they came down, af- 
ter two short turns (as sudden as forked light- 
ning), heads down for a moment, then heads up, 
and wings flapping, sousing and subsiding. Quacks 
began, from the old drake first, and then from the 
rest of the company, and a racing after one an- 
other, and a rapid gambolling. Under and be- 
tween them all the river lost its smoothness, 
beaten into ups and downs that sloped away in 
ridge and furrow. 

These fine fellows, as fat as butter after the 
barley - stubble time, carried on such joy and 
glory within twenty yards of me, that I could 
not bring my gun to bear for quiet shot, so as to 
settle four. Like an ancient gunner I bided my 
time, being up to the tricks of most of them. 
When their wild delight of water should begin 
to sate itself, what would they do? Why, gath- 
er in round the father of the family, and bob 
their heads together. This is the time to be 
sure of them, especially with two barrels fired at 
once, as I could easily manage. I never felt surer 
of birds in my life ; I smelt them in the drip- 
ping-pan, and beheld myself quite basting them ; 
but all of a sudden, up they flew, when I had 
got three in a line, and waited for two more to 
come into it, just as the muzzle was true upon 
them — up and away, and left me nothing except 
to rub my eyes and swear. I might have shot 
as they rose, but something told me not to do 
so. Therefore, I crept back in my little punt, 
and waited. In another moment I heard the 
swing of stout oars pulled with time and power, 
such as I had not heard for years, nor since my- 
self was stroke of it. Of course I knew that this 
must be a boat of the British navy, probably the 
cqptain’s gig, and choice young fellows rowing 
her ; and the tears sprang into my eyes at 
thought of all the times and things between, 
and all the heavy falls of life, since thus I clove 
the waters. All my heart went out towards her, 
and I held my breath with longing (as I looked 
between the branches of the dark and fluttering 
tree), just to let them know that here was one 
who understood them. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

TWO LOVERS. 

The boat came round the corner swiftly of the 
wooded stretch of rock, within whose creek I 
lay concealed ; and the offlcer in the stern-sheets 
cried, in the short sharp tone of custom, “Easy, 
stroke; hold all!” I heard him jerk the rud- 
der-lines, as they passed within biscuit-toss of 
me, and with a heavy sheer he sent her, as if he 
knew every inch of water, to the steps of Narnton 
Court : not the handsome balustrade, only a land- 
ing of naiTOw stone-way, nearer to me than the 
western end, and where the river-side teiTace 
stopped. Two men sprang ashore and made the 
boat fast at the landing, and then some others 
lifted out what seemed to be a heavy chest, and 
placed it on the topmost step, until the officer. 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


77 


having landed, signed to them to bear it farther 
to a corner of the parapet. I could see the 
whole of these doings, and distinguish him by 
his uniform, because the boat and the group of 
sailors were not more than fifty yards from me, 
and almost in the track of the moon from the 
place where I was hiding. In a minute or two 
all returned to the boat, with the exception of 
the officer, and I heard him give orders from the 
shore — 

“Round the point, men! Keep, close, and 
wait for me under the Yellow Hook I showed 
you.” 

The coxswain jumped into the stem-sheets; 
in a second or two they had put about, and the 
light gig, pulling six good oars, shot by me, on 
the first of the ebb, as swiftly almost as the wild 
ducks flew. Meanwhile the officer stood and 
gazed until they had rounded the western point, 
from which they had spoiled my shot so ; and 
knowing the vigilant keenness of a British cap- 
tain’s eyes, I feared that he might espy my punt, 
which would have disgraced me dreadfully. And 
even without this I felt how much I would rath- 
er be far away. There could have been no man 
more against my taste to keep a watch upon 
than a captain in the royal navy, whose father 
might have been over me. And vigorously as I 
called to mind that all I was doing must be for 
his good, as well as for that of his relatives, I 
Ncould not find that satisfaction which ought to 
flow from such benevolence. However, it now 
was too late to back out, even if my desire to 
know the end of this matter allowed of it. 

The officer stood for a minute or two, as if in 
brown thoughts and deep melancholy, and turned 
to the house once or twice, and seemed to hesi- 
tate as to approaching it. The long great house, 
with the broad river-front, looked all dark and 
desolate ; not a servant, a liorse, nor even a dog 
was moving, and the only sign of life I could see 
was a dull light in a little window over a narrow 
door- way. While I was wondering at all this, 
and the captain standing gloomily, a little dark 
figure crossed the moonlight from the shadowy 
door- way, and the officer made a step or two, 
and held out his arms and received it. They 
seemed to stay pretty well satisfied thus, the 
figure being wholly female, until, with a sudden 
change of thought, there seemed to be some sob- 
bing. This led the captain to try again some 
soft modes of persuasion, such as I could not see 
into, even if I would have deigned to do a thing 
against my grain so, because I have been in that 
way myself, and did not want to be looked at. 
However, not to be too long over what every 
man almost goes through (some honestly, and 
some anyhow, but all tending to experience), my 
only desire was, finding them at it, to get out of 
the way very quickly. For, poor as I am, there 
were several women of Newton, and Llaleston, and 
Ewenny, and even of Bridgend, our market-town, 
setting their caps, like springles, at me ! Where- 
as I labored at nothing else but to pay respect to 
my poor wife’s memory, and never have a poor 
woman after her. And now all these romantic 
doings made me feel uneasy, and ready to be in- 
fected, so as to settle with nothing more than 
had been offered me thrice, and tliree times re- 
fused — a seven-foot-and-six-inch mangle ; and 
(if she proved a tiger) have to work it myself, 
perhaps ! 


Be that either way, these two unhappy lovers 
came along, while I was wondering at them, yet 
able to make allowance so, until they must have 
seen me, if they had a corner of an eye for any 
thing less than one another. They stood on a 
plank that crossed the naiTow creek or slot 
(wherein I lay, under a willow full of brown 
leaves), and scarcely ten yards from me. Here 
there was a rail across, about as big as a kidney- 
bean stick, whereupon they leaned, and looked 
into the water under them. Then they sighed, 
and made such sorrow (streaked somehow with 
happiness) that I got myself ready to leap over- 
board if either or both of them should jump in. 
However, they had more sense than that ; though 
they went on very tenderly, and with a soft strain 
quite unfit to belong to a British officer. Being, 
from ancient though humble birth, gifted with a 
deal of delicacy, I pulled out two plugs of tobac- 
co which happened to be in my mouth just now, 
and I spared them both to stop my ears, though 
striking inward painfully. I tried to hear noth- 
ing for ever so long ; but I found myself forced to 
ease out the plugs, they did smart so confound- 
edly. And this pair wanted some one now to 
take a judicious view of them, for which few 
men, perhaps, could be found better qualified 
than I was. For they carried. on in so high a 
manner, that it seemed as if they could be cured 
by nothing short of married life, of which I had 
so much experience. And the principal princi- 
ple of that state is, that neither party must begin 
to make too much of the other side. But having 
got over all that sort of thing, I found myself 
snug in a corner, and able to regard them with 
interest and much candor. 

“ Is there no hope of it then, after all,* after 
all you have done and suffered, and the prayers 
of every body ?” This was the maiden, of course 
having right to the first word, and the last of it. 

“There is hope enough, my darling, but nothing 
ever comes of it. And how can I search out this 
strange matter while I am on service always ?’' 

“ Throw it up, Drake ; my dear heart, for my 
sake, throw it up, and throw over all ambition 
until you are cleiired of this foul shame.” 

“My ambition is slender now,” he answered, 
“ and would be content with one slender lady.” 
Here he gave her a squeeze that threatened not 
only to make her slenderer, but also to make the 
rail need more stoutness, and me to keep ready for 
plunging. “ Nevertheless, you know,” he went 
on, when the plank and the rail put up with it^ 
“ I can not think of myself for a moment while 
I am thus on duty. We expect orders for Amer- 
ica.” 

‘ ‘ So you said ; and it frightens me. If that 
should be so, what ever, ever can become of us ?” 

“My own dear, you are a child; almost a 
child for a man like me, knocked about the world 
so much, and ever so unfortunate.” 

The rest of his speech was broken into, much 
to my dissatisfaction, by a soft caressing comfort, 
such as women’s pity yields without any consid- 
eration. Only they made all sorts of foolish prom^* 
ises and eternal pledges, touched up with confi- 
dence, and hope, and mutual praise, and faith, and 
doubt, and the other ins and outs of love. 

“ I won’t cry any more,” she said, with several 
sobs between it ; “I ought not to be so with you, 
who are so strong, and good, and kind. Your 
honor is cruelly wronged at home : you never shall 


78 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


say that your own, own love wished you to peril 
it also abroad.” 

He took her quietly into his arms, and they seem- 
ed to strengthen one another. And to my eyes 
came old tears, or at any rate such as had come 
long ago. These two people stood a great time, 
silent, full of one another, keeping close with 
reverent longing, gazing, yet not looking, at the 
moonlight and the water. Then the delicate 
young maiden (for such her voice and outline 
showed her, though I could not judge her face) 
shivered in the curling fog which the climbing 
moon had brought. Hereupon the captain felt 
that her lungs must be attended to, as well as 
her lips, and her waist, and heart ; and he said 
in a soft way, like a shawl, 

“ Come away, my lovely darling, from the cold, 
and fog, and mist. Your little cloak is damp all 
through, and time it is for me to go. Discipline 
I will have always ; and I must have the same 
with you, until you take command of me.” 

“Many, many a weary year, ere I have the 
chance of it. Captain Drake.” The young thing 
sighed as she spoke, though perhaps without any 
sense of prophecy. 

“Isabel, let us not talk like that, even if we 
think it. The luck must turn some day, my dar- 
ling ; even I can not be always on the evil side 
of it. How often has my father said so ! And 
what stronger proof can, I have than you ? As 
long as you are true to me — ” 

They were turning away, when this bright idea, 
which seems to occur to lovers always, under some 
great law of nature, to prolong their interviews — 
this compelled them to repeat pretty much the 
same forms, and ceremonies, assurances, pledges, 
and such-like, which had passed between them 
scarcely more than three or four minutes ago, I 
believe. And again I looked away, because I 
would have had others do so to me ; and there 
was nothing new to learn by it. 

“ Only one thing more, my ow’n,”said the lady, 
taking his arm again ; ‘ ‘ one more thing you must 
promise me. If you care for me at all, keep out 
of the way of that dreadful man.” 

“ Why, how can I meet him at sea, my Bell ? 
Even if he dislikes me, as you tell me perpetual- 
ly, though I never gave him cause, that I know 
of.” 

“ He does not dislike you, Drake Bampfylde; 
he hates you with all the venomous, cold, black 
hatred, such as I fear to think of— oh my dear! oh 
my dear !” 

‘ ‘ Now, Isabel, try not to be so foolish. I nev- 
er could believe such a thing, and I never will, 
without clearest proof. I never could feel like 
that myself, even if any one wronged me deeply. 
And in spite of all my bad luck, Bell, I have nev- 
er wronged any one. At least, more than you 
know of.” 

“Then don’t wrong me, my own dear love, 
by taking no heed of yourself. Here, there, and 
eveiy where seems to be his nature. You may be 
proud of your ship and people, and of course they 
are proud of you. You may be ordered to Gib- 
raltar, where they have done so gloriously, or to 
America, or to India. But wherever you are, 
you never can be out of the reach of that terrible 
man. His ways are so crooked, and so dark, 
and so dreadfully cold-blooded.” 

“Isabel, Isabel, now be quiet. What an im- 
agination you have ! A man in holy orders, a ! 


man of a good old family, who have been an- 
cient friends of ours — ” 

“A bad old family, you mean — bad for gen- 
erations. It does not matter, of course, what I 
say, because I am so young and stupid. But 
you are so frank, and good, and simple, and so 
very brave and careless, and I know that you Avill 
own some day — oh, it frightens me so to think 
of it! — that you w'ere wrong in this matter, and 
your Isabel was right.” 

What his answer Avas I can not tell, because 
they passed beyond my hearing upon their Avay 
towards the house. The young lady, with her 
long hair shining like woven gold in the moon- 
light, tried (so far as I could see) to persuade 
him to come in with her. This, howcA’er, he 
w'ould not do, though grieving to refuse her ; and 
she seemed to know the reason of it, and to 
cease to urge him. In and out of many things, 
which they seemed to have to talk of, he show^ed 
her the great chest in the dark corner ; and per- 
haps she paid good heed to it. As to that, how 
can I tell, when they both were so far off, and 
river-fogs arising? Yet one thing I well could 
tell, or, at any rate, could have told it in the 
times when my blood ran fast, and my habit of 
life was romantic. Even though the light was 
foggy, and there w'as no time to w'aste, these two 
people seemed so to stay with a great dislike of 
severing. 

However, they managed it at last ; and grow- 
ing so cold in my shoulders now, as w^ell as my 
knees uncomfortable, right glad Avas I to hear 
Avhat the maiden listened to Avith intense despair ; 
that is to say, the captain’s footfall, a yard far- 
ther off every time of the sound. He AA'ent along 
the Braunton road, to find his boat Avhere the 
riA-er bends. And much as I longed to know 
him better, and understand Avhy he did such 
things, and Avhat he meant by hankering so after 
this young lady outside his own father’s house, 
and refusing to go inside Avhen invited, and speak- 
ing of his OAvn bad luck so much, and having a 
chest put away from the moonlight, likewise his 
men in the distance so far, and compelled to keep 
round the corner, not to mention his manner of 
Avalking, and swinging his shoulders, almost as if 
the Avorld Avas nothing to him ; although I had 
neA'er been, perhaps, so thoroughly pushed Avith 
desire of knowledge, and all my best feelings up- 
pennost, there was nothing for me left except to 
ponder, and to cheAv my (]uid, roAving softly 
through the lanes and lines of misty moonlight, 
to my little cuddy-home across the tidal river. 

I ■ 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

AMONG THE SAVAGES. 

At this moment it became a A^ery nice point to 
perceive Avhat was really honest and right, and 
then to carry it out Avith all that fearless alacrity, 
Avhich in such cases I find to be, as it Avere, con- 
stitutional to me. My high sense of honor Avould 
fain persuade me to keep in strictest secrecy that 
Avhich (so far as I could judge) aa’us not, or might 
not have been, intended for my eyes, or ears, or 
tongue. On the other hand, my still higher 
sense of duty to my employer (which is a most 
needful and practical feeling), and that power of 
! loyalty Avhich descends to me, and perhaps Avill 


THE MAID OF SEEK. 


79 


die with me, as well as a strong, and no less an- 
cestral, eagerness to be up to the tricks of all 
mysterious beings — I do not exaggerate when I 
say that the cut- water of my poor mind knew not 
which of these two hands pulled the stronger oar. 

In short, being tired, and sleepy, and weary, 
and worn out with want of perceiving my way, 
although I smoked three pipes all alone (not from 
the smallest desire for them, but because I have 
routed the devil thus many and many a night, I 
know — as the priests do with their incense ; the 
reason of which I take to be, that, having so much 
smoke at home, he shuns it when coming for 
change of air — growing dreamy thus), I said, 
with nobody to answer me, “I will tumble into 
my berth, as this dirty craft has no room for 
hammocks ; and, between parson and captain, I 
will leave my dreams to guide me.” 

I played with myself in saying this. No man 
ever should play with himself. It shows that he 
thinks too troublesomely ; and soon may come, 
if he carries it on, almost to forget that other 
people are nothing, while himself is every thing. 
And if any man comes to that state of mind, 
there is nothing more to hope of him. 

I was not so far gone as that. Nevertheless, 
it seiwed me right (for thinking such dreadful 
looseness) to have no broad fine road of sleep, in 
the depth whereof to be borne along, and lie 
w herever wanted ; but instead of that to toss and 
kick, wuth much self-damage, and w^orst of all, 
to dream such murder that I now remember it. 
What it w’as, belongs to me, wdio paid for it with 
a loss of hair, very serious at my time of life. 
However, not to dwell upon that, or upon myself 
in any way — such being iny perpetual wish, yet 
thwarted by great activity — let it be enough to 
say that Parson Chowne in my visions came and 
horribly stood over me. 

Therefore, arising betimes, I hired a very fine 
horse, and, manning him bravely, laid his head 
east and by south, as near as might be, according 
to our binnacle. But though the wind was abaft 
the beam, and tide and all in his favor, and a 
brave commander upon his poop, what did he do 
but bouse his stem, and run out his spanker- 
driver, and up with his taffrail, as if I was wear- 
ing him in a thundering heavy sea. I resolved 
to get the upper hand of this uncalled-for muti- 
ny ; and the more so because all our crew were 
gazing, and at the fair I had laid down the law 
very strictly concerning horses. I slipped my 
feet out of the chains, for fear of any sudden cap- 
size, and then I rapped him over the cat-heads, 
W’here his anchor ought to hang. He, how’ever, 
instead of doing at all what I expected, up with 
his bolt-sprit and down w'ith his quarter, as if 
struck by a whale under his forefoot. This w'as 
so far from true seamanship, and proved him to 
be so unbuilt for sailing, that I was content to 
disembark over his stem, and with slight concus- 
sions. 

“ Never say die ” has always been my motto, 
and always will be : nailing my colors to the 
mast, I embarked upon another horse of less than 
half the tonnage of that one who would not an- 
swer helm. And this craft, being broken-backed, 
with a strange sound at her port-holes, could not 
under press of sail bowl along more than four 
knots an hour. And we adjusted matters be- 
tween us so, that when she was tired I also was 
sore, and therefore disembarked and towed her. 


until we were both fit for sea again. Tlierefore 
it must have been good meridian when I met 
Parson Chowne near his house. 

This man was seldom inside his own house, 
except at his meal-times, or when asleep, but 
roving about uncomfortably, seeing to the veriest 
trifles, everywhere abusing or kicking every body. 
And but for the certainty of his witchcraft (nine- 
fold powerful, as they told me, when conferred 
upon a parson), and the black strength of his 
eyes, and the doom that had befallen all who 
dared to go against him, the men about the yards 
and stables told me — when he was miles aw'ay — 
that they never could have put up with him ; for 
his w'ages were also below their deserts. 

He came to me from the kennel of hounds, 
which he kept not for his owm pleasure so much 
as for the delight of forbidding gentlemen, when- 
ever the whim might take him so, especially if 
they w ere nobly accoutred, from earning at his 
expense the glory of jumping hedges and ditches. 
Now, as he came towards me, or rather beckoned 
for me to come to him, I saw that the other truly 
eminent parson, the Reverend John Rambone, 
was with him, and giving advice about the string 
at the back of a young dog’s tongue. Although 
this man w'as his greatest friend, Master Chowme 
treated him no better than any body else would 
fare; but signed to the mate of the hounds, or 
whatever those fox-hunters call their chief oificer, 
to heed every w'ord of what Rambone said. Be- 
cause these tw’o divines had won faith through- 
out all parishes and hundreds : Chowme for the 
doctrine of homes; and for disciphne of dogs, 
John Rambone. 

His reverence fixed a stem gaze upon me, be- 
cause I had not hurried myself — a thing which I 
never do, except in a glorious naval action — and, 
then he bade me follow him. This I did ; and I 
declare even now I can not tell w'hither he took 
me. For I seemed to have no power, in his pres- 
ence, of heeding any tiling but himself : only I 
know that we passed through trees, and sat down 
somew'here afterwards. Wherever it was, or may 
have been, so far as my memory serves, I think 
that I held him at bay some little. For instance, 
I took the greatest care not to speak of the fair 
young lady ; inasmuch as she might not have 
done all she did, if she had chanced to possess 
the knowledge of my being under the willow'-tree. 
But Parson Cliowne, without my telling, knew the 
whole of wdiat w'as done ; and what he thought 
of it none might guess in the shadowy shining of 
his eyes. 

“You have done pretty w'ell, on the whole,” 
he said, after asking many short questions ; “ but 
you must do better next time, my man. You 
must not allow all these delicate feelings, chival- 
ry, resolute honesty, and little things of that sort, 
to interfere thus with business. These things do 
some credit to you, Llewellyn, and please you, and 
add to your happiness, which consists largely 
with you (as it does with all men) in conceit. 
But you must not allow yourself thus to coquet 
with these beauties of human nature. It needs a 
rich man to do that. Even add my five shillings 
to your own four, and you can not thus go to 
Corinth.” 

I had been at Corinth twice, and found it not 
at all desirable; so I could not make out what 
his reverence meant, except that it must be some- 
thing bad ; which at my time of life should not 


80 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


be put into the mind, even by a clergj^man. But 
what I could least put up with was, the want of 
encouragement I found for all my better feelings. 
These seemed to meet with nothing more than 
discouragement and disparagement, whereas I 
knew them to be sound, substantial, and solid ; 
and I always felt, upon going to bed, what happi- 
ness they afforded me. And if the days of my 
youth had only passed through learned languages, 
Latin and Greek and Hebrew, I doubt whether 
even Parson Chowne could have laid his own 
will upon me so. 

“Supposing, then, that your reverence should 
make it ten,” I answered ; “ with my own four, 
that would be fourteen.” 

“I can truly believe that it would, my man. 
And you may come to that, if yoji go on well. 
Now go into the house and enjoy yourself. You 
Welshmen are always hungry. And you may 
talk as freely as you like ; which is your next 
desire. Every word you say will come back to 
me ; and some of it may amuse me. If you have 
no sense, you have some cunning. You will 
know what things to speak of. And be sure that 
you wait until I come back.” 

This was so wholly below and outside of the 
thing which I love to reconcile with my own con- 
stitution (having so long been respected for them, 
as well as rewarded by conscience), that I scarce- 
ly knew where, or who I was, or what might next 
come over me. And to complete my uncomfort- 
able sense of being nobody, I heard the sound 
of a galloping horse down-hill as wild as could be, 
and found myself left as if all the ideas which I 
was prepared to suggest were nothing. However, 
that was not my loss, but his ; so I entered the 
house, with considerable hope of enjoying myself, 
as commanded. For this purpose I have always 
• fcund it, in the house of a gentleman, the height 
of luck to get among three young women and 
one old one. The elderly woman attends to the 
cooking, which is not understood by the young 
ones, or at any rate can not be much expected ; 
while, on the other hand,ithe young ones flirt in 
and out in a pleasant way, laying the table and 
showing their arms (which are of a lovely red, as 
good as any gravy) ; and then if you know how 
to manage them well, with a wholesome deference 
to the old cook, and yet an understanding — while 
she is basting, and as one might almost say, be- 
hind her back — a confidential feeling established 
that you know how she treats those young ones, 
and how harshly she dares to speak, if a coal comes 
into the dripping-pan, and in casting it out she 
burns her fltce, and abuses the whole of them for 
her own fault ; also a little shy suggestion that 
they must put up with all this, because the old 
cook is past sweethearting time, and the parlor- 
maid scarcely come to it, accompanied by a wink 
or two, and a hint in the direction of the stables 
— some of the very noblest dinners that ever I 
made have been thus introduced. But what for- 
giveness could I expect, or who would listen to 
me, if I dared to speak in the same dinner-hour 
of the goodly kitchen at Candleston Court; or 
even at Court Ysha, and the place that seiwed as 
a sort of kitchen, so far as they seem to want 
one, at this Nympton Rectory? A chill came 
over eveiy man, directly he went into it ; and he 
knew that his meat would be hocks and bones, 
and his gravy (if any) would stand cold dead. 
However, I made the best of it, as my manner is 


with every thing ; and though the old stony wom- 
an sat, and seemed to make stone of eveiy one, 
I kept my spirits up, and became (in spite of all 
her stoppage) what a man of my knowledge of 
mankind must be among womankind. In a word, 
though I do not wish to set down exactly how I 
managed it, in half an hour I could see, while 
carefully concealing it, that there was not a single 
young woman there without beginning to say to 
herself, “Should I like to be Mrs. Llewellyn?” 
After that, I can have them always. But I know 
them too well to be hasty. No prospects would 
suit me, at my time of life, unless they came after 
some cash in hand. The louts from the stables 
and kennels poured iu, some of them very “de- 
gustin ” (as my Bardie used to say), nevertheless 
the girls seemed to like them; and who was I, 
even when consulted, to pretend to say otherwise? 
In virtue of what I had seen, among barbarous 
tribes and everywhere, and all my knowledge of 
ceremonies, and the way they marry one another, 
it took me scarcely half an hour (especially among 
poor victuals) to have all the women watching for 
eveiy word I was prepared to drop. Although 
this never fails to happen, yet it always pleases 
me ; and to find it in Parson Chowne’s kitchen 
go thus, and the stony woman herself compelled 
to be bitten by mustard for fear of smiling, and 
two or three maids quite unfit to get on without 
warm pats on their shoulder-blades, and the dogs 
quite aware that men were laughing, and that this 
meant luck for them if they put up their noses ; it 
was not for me to think much of myself ; and yet 
how could I help doing it ? 

In the midst of this truly social joy, and natural 
commune over victuals, and easing of thought to 
suit one another in the courtesies of digestion ; 
and just as the slowest among us began to enter 
into some knowledge of me, in Avalked that great 
Parson Rambone, with his hands behind his back, 
and between them a stout hunting-crop. The 
maidens seemed to be taken aback, but the men 
\yere not much afraid of him. 

“What a rare royster you are making! Out 
by the kennel I heard you. However can I write 
my sermons?” 

“Does your reverence write them in the ken- 
nel?” Thus the chief huntsman made inquiry, 
having a certain privilege. 

“ Clear out, clear out!” said Rambone, fetching 
his whip towards all of us; “I am left in au- 
thority here, and I must have proper discipline. 
Mrs. Steelyard, I am surprised at you. Girls, you 
must never go on like this. What will his rev- 
erence say to me ? Come along with me, thou 
villain Welshman, and give me a light for iny 
pipe, if you please.” 

It was a sad thing to behold a man of this no- 
ble nature, having gifts of every thing (whether 
of body, or heart, or soul), only wanting gift of 
mind ; and for want of that alone, making wreck 
of all the rest. I let him lead me, while I felt 
how I longed to have the lead of him. But that 
was in stronger hands than mine. 

“Come, and I’ll show thee a strange sight, 
Taffy,” he said to me very pleasantly, as soon as 
his pipe was kindled; “only I must have my 
horse, to inspire them with respect for me, as well 
as to keep my distance. Where is thy charger, 
thou valiant Taffy ?” 

I answered his reverence that I w’ould rather 
travel afoot, if it were not too for ; neither could 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


81 


he persuade me, after the experience of that 
morning, to hoist my flag on an unknown horse, 
the command of which he offered me. So forth 
we set, the parson on horseback, and in very 
high spirits, trolling songs, leaping hedges, frol- 
icking enough to frighten one, and I on foot, 
rather stiff" and weary, and needing a glass of 
grog, without any visible chance of getting it. 

“Here, you despondent Taffy; take this, and 
brighten up a bit. It is true you are going to the 
gallow’s ; but there’s no room for you there just 
now.” 

I saw w'hat he meant, as he handed me his sil- 
ver hunting-flask, for they have a fashion about 
there of hanging bad people at cross- w'ays, and 
leaving them there for tlie good of others, and 
to encourage honesty. And truly the place was 
chosen well ; for in the hollow not far below it 
might be found those savage folk of whom I said 
something a good while ago. And I did not say 
then what I might have said ; because I felt 
scandalized, and unwilling to press any question 
of doubtful doings upon thoroughly accomplished 
people. But now I am bound, like a hospital sur- 
geon, to display the whole of it. 

“Take hold of the tail of my horse, old Taffy,” 
said his reverence to me; “and I ■will see you 
clear of them. Have no fear, for they all know 
me.” 

By this time we were surrounded "with fifteen 
or twenty strange-looking creatures, enough to 
frighten any body. Many fine savages have I 
seen — on the shores of the Land of Fire, for in- 
stance, or on the coast of Guinea, or of the Gulf 
of Panama, and in fifty other places — yet none 
did I ever come across so outrageous as these 
were. They danced, and capered, and caught up 
stones, and made pretense to throw at us ; and 
then, Avith horrible grimaces, showed their teeth 
and jeered at us. Scarcely any of the men had 
more than a piece of old sack upon him ; and as 
for the Avomen, the less I say the more you AA’ill 
believe it. My respect for respectable Avomen is 
such that I scarcely dai*e to irritate them, by not 
saying Avhat these other Avomen Avere as concerns 
appearance. And yet I Avill confine myself, as if 
of the female gender, to a gentle hint that these 
women might haA'e looked much nicer if only 
they had clothes on. 

But the poor little “pickaninnies,” as the nig- 
gers call them, these poor little devils Avere tar 
Avorse off" than any hatch of negroes, or maroons, or 
copper-colors anywhere in the breeding-gi'ounds. 
Not so much from any Avant of tendance or clean 
management, which none of the others ever got ; 
but from diff"erence of climate, and the moisture 
of their native soil. These little creatures, all 
stark naked, seemed to bo Avell enough off" for food, 
of some sort or another, but to be very badly off" 
for want of AV’ashing and coA’ering up. And their 
little legs seemed to be groAving crooked ; the 
meaning of Avhich Avas beyond me then ; until I 
was told that it took its rise from the Avay they 
were forced to crook them in, to lay hold of one 
another’s legs, for the sake of natural Avarmth and 
comfort, as the AAdnter-time came on, Avhen they 
slept in the straw all together. I believe this Avas 
so ; but I neA'er saw it. 

The ReA^erend John Rambone took no other 
notice of these people than to be amused Avith 
them. He kneAV some tAvo or three of the men, 
and spoke of them by their nicknames, such as 
F 


“Browny,” or “ Horse-hair, ” or “Sandy-boy;” 
and the little children came craAvling on their 
bellies to him. This seemed to be their natural 
manner of going at an early age ; and only one of 
all the very little children Avalked upright. This 
one came to the parson’s horse, and being still of 
a tottery order, laid "hold of a. fore-leg to fetch up 
his OAvn ; and having such moorage, looked up at 
the horse. The horse, for his part, looked doAA'n 
upon him, bending his neck, as if highly pleased ; 
yet Avith his nostrils desiring to snort, and the 
Avhole of his springy leg quivering, but trying to 
keep quiet, lest the baby might be injured. This 
made me look at the child again, whose little 
foolish life Avas hanging upon the behavior of a 
horse. The rider perceived that he could do 
nothing, in spite of all his great strength and 
skill, to prevent the horse from dashing out the 
baby’s brains Avith his fore-hoof, if only he should 
rear or fret. And so he only soothed him. But 
I, being up to all these things, and full foreA'er of 
presence of mind, slipped in under the hold of the 
horse, as quietly as possible, and, in a manner 
Avhich others might call at the same time daring 
and dexterous, I fetched the poor little felloAV out 
of his dangerous position. 

“Well done, Taff’y!”said Parson Jack; “I 
should never have thought you had sense enough 
for it. You had a narroAv shave, my man.” 

For the horse, being frightened by so much 
nakedness, made a most sudden spring OA'er my 
body, before I could rise with the child in my 
arms ; and one of his after-hoofs knocked my hat 
off", so that I felt truly thankful not to have had 
a worse business of it. But I Avould not let any 
one laugh at my fright. 

“A miss is as good as a mile, your reverence. 
Many a cannon-ball has passed me nearer than 
your horse’s hoof. Tush, a mere trifle! Will 
your reverence give this poor little man a ride ?” 
And Avith that I offered him the child upon his 
saddle-bow, naked, and unwashed, and kicking. 

“Keep off, or you shall taste my horse-Avhip. 
Keep aAvay with your dirty brat — and yet — oh, 
poor little deAuU If I only had a cloth Avitli 
me!” 

For this parson Avas of tender nature, although 
so Avild and reckless; and in his light Avay he 
Avas moved at the Avretched plight of this small 
creature, and the signs of heavy stripes upon him. 
Not all over him, as the parson said, being prone 
to exaggerate ; but only extending OA^er his back, 
and his hams, and other convenient places. And 
perhaps my jacket made them smart, for he roared 
every time I lifted him. And every time I set 
him doAvn, he stared Avith a Avistful kind of Avon- 
der at our clothes, and at the noble horse, as if 
he Avere trying to remember something. ‘ ‘ Where 
can they have picked up this poor little beggar ?” 
said Parson Jack, more to himself than to me: 
“he looks of a different breed altogether. I 
Avonder if this is one of Stoyle’s d — d tricks.” 
And all the Avay back he spoke never a Avord, but 
seemed to be Avorrying with himself. But I haA"- 
ing set the child down on his feet, and dusted my 
clothes, and cleaned myself, followed the poor 
little creature’s toddle, and examined him care- 
fully. The rest of the children seemed to hate 
him, and he to shrink out of their Avay almost ; 
and yet he Avas the only fine and handsome child 
among them. For, in spite of all the dirt upon 
it, his face Avas honest, and fair, and open, Avith 


82 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


large soft eyes of a dainty bine, and short thick 
curls of yellow hair that wanted combing sadly. 
And though he had rolled in muddy places, as 
little wild children always do, for the sake of 
keeping the cold out, his skin was white, where 
the mud had peeled, and his form lacked nothing 
but washing. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

IN A STATE OF NATURE. 

Now all these things contributed, coming as 
they did so rapidly, to arouse inside me a burn- 
ing and almost desperate curiosity. It was in 
vain that I said to myself, “these are no con- 
cerns of mine: let them manage their own af- 
fairs: the less I meddle, the better for me: I 
seem to be in a barbarous land, and I must ex- 
pect things barbarous. And after all, what does 
it come to, compared with the great things I 
have seen, ay, and played my part in ?” To rea- 
son thus, and regard it thus, and seek only to be 
quit of it, was a proof of the highest wisdom any 
man could manifest : if he could only stick to it. 
And this I perceived, and thus I felt, and praised 
myself for enforcing it so ; until it became not 
only safe, but a bounden duty to reward my con- 
science by a little talk or so. 

Hence I lounged into the stable-yard — for that 
terrible Chowne was not yet come back, neither 
were maids to be got at for talking, only that 
stony Steelyard — and there I found three or four 
shirt-sleeved fellows, hissing at horses, and rub- 
bing away, to put their sleeping polish on them, 
before the master should return. Also three or 
four more were laboring in the stalls very briskly, 
one at a sort of holy-stoning, making patterns 
with brick and sand, and the others setting up 
the hammocks for the nags to lie in, with a lash- 
ing of twisted straw aft of their after-heels and 
tatfrails, as the wake of a ship might be. And 
all of it done most ship-shape. This amused me 
mightily ; for I never had seen such a thing be- 
fore, even among wild horses, who have power to 
manage their own concems. But to see them all 
go in so snugly, and with such a sweet, clean 
savor, each to his own oats or mashings, with the 
golden straw at foot, made me think, and forced 
me to it, of those wretched white barbarians 
(white, at least, just here and there), whom good 
Parson Jack — as one might almost try to call 
him — had led me to visit that same afternoon. 

Perceiving how the wind sat, I even held back, 
and smoked a pipe, exactly as if I were overseer, 
and understood the whole of it, yet did not mean 
to make rash reproach. This had a fine effect 
upon them, especially as I chewed a straw, by no 
means so as to stop my pipe, but to exhibit mas- 
tery. And when I put my leg over a rail, as if 
I found it difficult to keep myself from horseback, 
the head-man came to me straightforward, and 
asked me when I had hunted last. 

I told him that I was always hunting, week- 
days, and Sundays, and all the year round, be- 
cause it was our fashion ; and that we hunted 
creatui'es such as he never had the luck to set 
eyes on. And when I had told him a few more 
things (such as flow from experience, when mixed j 
with imagination), a duller man than myself might 
see that he longed for me to sup with him. And i 


! he spoke of things that made me ready, such as 
tripe and onions. 

However, this would never do. I felt myself 
strongly under orders ; and but for this paramount 
sense of duty, never could I have done the things 
modestly mentioned as of yore; and those of 
hereafter tenfold as fine, such as no modesty dare 
suppress. So, when I had explained to him ex- 
actly how I stood about it, he did not refuse to 
fill his pipe ivdth a bit of my choice tobacco, and 
to come away from all idle folk, to a place in the 
shelter "of a rick, where he was sure to hear the 
hoofs of his master’s horse retuniing. I sat with 
him thus, and we got on well ; and as he was go- 
ing to marry soon the daughter of a publican, 
who had as good as fifty pounds, and nothing 
that could be set on fire, and lived fifty miles 
away almost, he did not mind telling me all the 
truth, because he saw that I could keep it ; and 
at his age he could not enter into the spirit of be- 
ing kicked so. I told him I should like to see a 
man kick me! But he said that I might come 
to it. 

This was a veiy superior man, and I durst not 
contradict him ; and having arranged so to settle 
in life, how could he hope to tell any more lies ? 
For I have always found all men grow pugna- 
ciously truthful, so to put it, for a month almost 
before wedlock ; while the women are doing the 
opposite. However, not to go far into that, what 
he told me was much as follows : 

Parson Chowne, in early life, before his mind 
was put into shape for any thing but to please it- 
self, had been dreadfully vexed and thwarted. 
Every matter had gone amiss, directly he was 
concerned in it ; his guardians had cheated him, 
so had his stepmother, so had his favorite uncle, 
and of course so had his lawyers done. In the 
thick of that-.bitteraess, what did his SAveetheart 
do but throw him over. She took a great scare 
of his strange black eyes, when she found that 
his money was doubtful. This Avas instinct, no 
doubt, on her part, and may have been a great 
Saving for her; but to him it was terrible loss. 
His fiiith AV’as already astray a little ; but a dear 
Avife might have brought it back, or at any rate 
made him think so. And he Avas not of the na- 
ture Avhich gropes after the bottom of eveiy thing, 
like a tAvisting auger. HaA’ing a prospect of good 
estates, he Avas sent to London to learn the laAV, 
after finishing at Oxford, not that he might prac- 
tice it, but to introduce a new element to the coun- 
ty magistrates Avhen he should mount the bench 
among them. Here he got rogued, as Avas only 
natural, and a great part of his land fell from him, 
and therefore he took to the clerical line ; and 
being of a stern and decided nature, he married 
three wiA-es, one after the other, and thus got a 
good deal of property. It Avas said, of course, 
as it alAA’ays is of any man thrice a AvidoAver, that 
he or his manner had killed his Avives ; a charge 
Avhich should never be made Avithout strong CA'i- 
dence in support of it. At any rate, there had 
been no children ; and different opinions Avere 
entertained Avhether this Avere the cause or effect 
of the parson’s dislike and contempt of little 
ones. 

Moreover, as women usuallA’’ are of a tougher 
staple than men can be, Chowne’s successive lib- 
j eration from three wives had added greatly to 
his fame for Avitchcraft, such as first accrued 
i from his commanding style, nocturnal habits. 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


83 


method of quenching other people, and collection 
of pots and kettles. The head-groom told me, 
with a knowing wink, that in his opinion the par- 
son was now looking after wife No. 4, for he nev- 
er had known him come out so smart with silver 
heels and crested head-piece, and even the mark 
of the saddle must not show upon his breeches. 
This was a sure sign, he thought, that there was 
a young lady in the wind, possessing both money 
and good looks, such as Chowne Avas entitled to, 
and ahvays had insisted on. Upon that point I 
could haA'e throAA'n some light (if prudence had 
permitted it), or at least I had some shrewd sus- 
picions, after what happened beside the riA’er; 
however, I said nothing. But I asked him what 
in his opinion first had soured the young man 
ChoAvne against the Avhole of the Avorld so sadly, 
as he seemed to retain it noAV. And he ansAA’^ered 
me that he could not tell, inasmuch as the cause 
Avhich he had heard given seemed to him to be 
most unlikely, according to all that he saAv of the 
man. Nevertheless I bade him tell it, being an 
older man than he AA'as, and therefore more able to 
enter into Avhat young folk call “ inconsistencies.” 
And so he told me that it Avas this : ChoAvne, 
Avliile still a young boy, had loved, Avith all the 
force of his heart, a boy a fsAV years younger than 
himself, a cousin of his OAvn, but not Avith pros- 
pects such as he had. And this boy had been 
killed at school, and the matter hushed up com- 
fortably among all high authorities. But Stoyle 
ChoAvne had made a a'oav to discover and hunt it 
out to the uttermost, and sooner or later to haA'e 
revenge. But Avhen his OAvn Avrongs fell upon 
him, doubtless he had forgotten it. I said that 
I did not believe he had done so, or CA'er Avould, 
to the uttermost. 

Then I asked about Parson Jack, and heard 
pretty much Avhat I expected. That he AA^as a 
AA'ell - meaning man enough, although without 
much sense of right or wrong, until his evil star 
led him into Parson ChoAvne’s society. But still 
he had instincts noAv and then, such as a horse 
has, of the right road ; and an old Avoman of his 
church declared that he did feel his OAvn sermons, 
and if let alone, and listened to, might come to 
act up to them. I asked Avhether Parson ChoAvne 
might do the like, but AA^as told that he never 
preached any. 

We Avere talking thus, and I had quite agreed 
to his desire of my company for supper-time, 
Avhen the sound of a horse upon stony ground, 
tearing along at a dangerous speed, quite broke 
up our conference. The groom, at the sound of 
it, damped out his pipe, and signified to me to 
do the same. 

“I have fired a-many of his enemies’ ricks,” 
he Avhispered, in his haste and fright; “but if 
he Avere to smell me a-smoking near to a rick of 
his own, good Lord!” and he pointed to a hay- 
rope, as if he saAv his halter. And though he 
had boasted of speedy marriage, and caring no fig 
for Parson ChoAvne, he set off for the stables at 
a pace likely to prove injurious to his credit for 
consistency. 

On the other hand, I, in a leisurely manner, 
picked myself up from the attitude natural to me 
Avhen listening kindly, and, calmly asserting my 
right to smoke, approached the track by which I 
knew that the rider must come into the yard ; for 
all the dogs had no fear of me noAA', by virtue of 
the Avhistle Avhich I bore. And before I had ’ 


been there half a minute, the parson dashed up 
AAuth his horse all smoking, and himself in a 
heaAy blackness of temper, such as I somehow 
expected of him. 

“No Jack here ! not a Jack to be seen ! Have 
the kindness to look for my stable- Avhip. Ho, 
LleAvellyn is it?” 

“Yes, your reverence, DaAud LleAvellyn, once 
of his Majesty’s Royal NaAy, and noAV of — ” 

“No more of that! You haA-e played me 
false. I expected it from a rogue like you. Re- 
store me that trust-guinea.” 

This so largely differed from Avhat even An- 
thony SteAV Avouid dare to say in conversation 
Avith me (much less at times of CA'idence), that I 
lifted up my heart to heaven, as tAvo or three 
preachers had ordered me ; and CA-en our parson 
had backed it up, Avith lineage at least as good, 
and perhaps much better, than Parson ChoAvne’s, 
by right of Welsh blood under it : the whole of 
this overcame me so, that I could only say, 
“What guinea, sir?” 

“What guinea, indeed! You would rob me, 
AA'Ould you ? Don’t you knoAV better than that, 
my man? Come to me in two hours’ time. 
Stop, give me that dog’s Avhistle ! ” 

Taking that heed of me, and no more, he cast 
the reins to my friend the head-groom, Avho came 
up, looking for all the AA’orld as if ncA^er had he 
seen me, and Avondered strangely who I could be. 
And this air of fright and denial ahvays perA’aded 
the Avhole household. All of Avhich Avas quite 
against Avhat I had been long accustomed to, 
AA'hereA'er I deigned to go in Avith my news to the 
servants’ place, or the housekeeper’s room, or 
anyAvhere pointed out to me as the best for enter- 
tainment. Here, hoAvever, although the seiwants 
seemed to be plentiful enough, and the horses 
and the hounds to haA-e as much as they could 
eat, there was not a trace of Avhat I may call 
good domestic comfort. When this preA^ails, as 
it ought to do in every gentleman’s household, 
the marks may be discoA'ered in the eyes and the 
mouth of eA^ery body. Nobody thinks of giving 
Avay to injudicious hurry Avhen bells ring, or 
Avhen shouts are heard, or horses’ feet at the front 
door. And if on the part of the cai-peted rooms 
any disquietude is shoAA'n, or desire to play, or 
feed, or ride, at times outside the convenience 
of the excellent company doAvn stairs, there is 
nothing more to be said, except that it can not 
be done, and should neA'er in common reason 
haA'e been thought of. For all servants must 
enjoy their meals, and must haA'e time to digest 
them Avith proper ease for conversation and ex- 
pansion afterAvard. At Candleston Court it was 
always so ; and so it should be eveiywhere. 

HoAvever, to return to my groom, Avhose cordi- 
ality revived at the moment his master tunied 
the corner, perceiving that Chowne had some 
matter on hand AA'hich Avould not alloAV him to 
visit the stables, just for the present at any rate, 
he turned the black mare OA'er to the care of an 
understrapper, and AA'ith a Avink and a smack of 
his lips, gave me to knoAV that his supper Avas to- 
Avard. Neither AA-ere we disappointed, but found 
it all going on very SAveetly, in a little private 
room used for cleaning harness. And he told 
me that this young cook-maid, of unusual abili- 
ties, had attached herself to him very strongly, 
Avith an eye to promotion, and haA’ing no scent 
' of his higher engagement : neither Avould he 


84 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


have been unwilling to carry out her wishes if 
she could only have shown a sixpence against the 
innkeeper s daughter’s shilling. I told him that 
he was too romantic, and he said with a sigh that 
he could not help it ; but all would come right in 
the end, no doubt. 

This honest atfection impressed me not a little 
in his favor, and in less than half an hour I found 
him a thoroughly worthy fellow: while he per- 
ceived, through a square-stalked rummer, that 
my character was congenial. I told him, there- 
fore, some foreign stories, many of which w’ere 
exceedingly true, and he by this time was ready 
to answer almost any thing that I chose to ask, 
even though he knew nothing about it. As for 
the people that wore no clothes, but lived all to- 
gether in the old mud-house, there need be and 
could be no mystery. Every one knew that his 
reverence had picked them up in his early days, 
and been pleased with their simple appearance 
and dishke of cultivation. Perceiving even then 
how glad he might be, in after-life, to annoy his 
neighbors, what did he do but bring these people 
(then six in number, and all of them wives and 
husbands to one another) and persuade them to 
dig themselves out a house, and by deed of gift 
establish them on forty acres of their own land, 
so that, as Englishmen love to say, their house 
was now their castle. Not that these were per- 
haps English folk, but rather of a Gypsy cross, 
capable, however, of becoming white if a muscu- 
lar man should scrub them. The groom said 
that nobody durst go near them, except Parson 
Chowne and Parson Jack, and that they seemed 
to get worse and worse, as they began to be per- 
secuted by clothes-wearing people. I asked him 
what their manners were ; and he said he be- 
lieved they W’ere good enough, so long as not in- 
terfered with; and who could blame them for 
maintaining that, whether they wore clothes or 
not, was entirely their owm concern : also, that if 
outer strangers intruded, from motives of low cu- 
riosity, upon their unclad premises, it was only 
fair to point out to them the disadvantages of cos- 
tume, by making it very hard to w’ash ? There 
was some sense in this, because the main anxiety 
of mankind is to convert one another ; and the 
pelting of mud is usually the beginning of such 
overtures. And these fine fellows having recur- 
red (as Parson Chowne said) to a natural state, 
their very first desire would be to redeem all 
fellow -creatures from the evils of civilization. 
Whereof the foremost perhaps is clothes, and the 
time we take in dressing — a tw’elfth part of their 
waking life with even the wisest women, and wdth 
thVunwise virgins often not less than three-quar- 
ters ; and with many men not much better. — 
But to come back to my savages. I asked this 
good groom how it came to pass that none of the 
sheriffs, or deputies, or even magistrates of the 
shire, put down this uugoodly company. He said 
that they had tried, but failed, according to the 
law’s of England, on the best authority. Because 
these men of the ancient Adam went back to the 
time before the beasts had come to Adam to get 
their names. They brought up their children 
without a name, and now all names w’ere dying 
out, and they agreed much better in consequence. 
And how could any WTit, warrant, or summons 
run against people w’ithout a name ? It had once 
been tried w’ith a ‘‘Nesho Kiss,” the meaning of 
which w’as beyond me ; but Parson Chow’tie up- 


set that at once ; and the bailiff w’as fit to make 
bricks of. 

At this I shook my head and smiled ; because 
we put up w ith many evils on our side of the wa- 
ter, but never with people so unbecoming in their 
manner of life and clothes. And I thought how 
even mild Colonel Lougher tvould have behaved 
upon such a point, and how sharp Anthony Stew 
would have stamped when they began to pelt 
him ; and how I w’ished him there to try it ! 

Nevertheless I desired to know w'hat victuals 
these good barbarians had; because, although like 
the Indian Jogis (mentioned by some great trav- 
eller) they might prove their right to go w’ithout 
clothes, which never were born upon them, they 
could not to my mind prove their poAver to do so 
well without victuals. He answered that this 
Avas a clever thing on my part to inquire about ; 
but that I Avas so far Avrong that these people 
Avould eat any thing. His reverence sent them 
every Aveek the refuse of his garden, as Avell as of 
stable-yard and kennel, and they had a gift of 
finding food in every thing around them. Their 
favorite dish — so to say, Avhen they had never a 
dish among them — was Avhat they discoA’ered in 
the pasture-land ; and this they divided carefully ; 
accounting it the depth of shame, and the surest 
mark of ciA’ilization, to cheat one another. But 
they could not expect to get this every day in a 
neighborhood of moorland ; therefore, instead of 
grumbling, they did their best to get on Avithout 
it. And ProA’idence ahvays sends thousands of 
victuals for all whose stomachs have not been ru- 
ined by thinking too much about them ; or A-ery 
likely through the women beginning to make 
them delicate.'Af So Avhen a man is sea-sick he 
thinks of and hates almost every thing. 

On the other hand, these noble felloAvs hated 
nothing that could be cheAved. TAventy-oue sorts 
of toad-stool, Avith the insects Avhich inhabit them ; 
three A’arieties of eft, and of frogs no less than 
seven ; also slugs six inches long, too large to have 
a house built ; moles that IKe in lines of decks, 
like a man-of-Avar’s-man ; also rats, and brindled 
hedgehogs, and the grubs of hornets (avIucIi far 
surpass all oysters) — these, and other little things, 
like goat-moths, leopards, and money-grubs, kept 
them so alh’e as never to come doAvn on the par- 
ish. Neither w’as there any hen-roost, rick-yard, 
apple-room, or dairy, on the farms around them, 
but in it they found nourishment. Into all this I 
could enter, Avhile the groom only shoAved the 
door of it. 

But Avhile Ave were talking thus, I heard the 
stable-clock strike eight, Avhich brought Ilezekiah 
to my mind, and my OAvn church clock at Ncav- 
ton. It struck in such a manner that I saAv the 
door of my own cottage, also Bunny in bed, Aviih 
her nostrils ready to tAvitch for snoring, and moth- 
er Jones, Avith a candle, stooping to ease her by 
means of a drop of hot grease ; and inside, by 
the Avail, lay Bardie, sleeping (as she always slept) 
Avith a smile of high-born quietude. And Avhat 
Avpuld all three say to me if ever I got back 
again ? 

Thanking this excellent groom for all his hos- 
pitality to me, and promising at his desire to keep 
it from his master, I took my Avay (as pointed 
out) to the room Avhere his reverence might be 
found. I feared that his temper AA’Ould be black, 
unless he had dined as I had supped, and taken a 
good glass afterwards. And I could not believe 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


85 


U’liat the gi'oomliad told me concerning one par- 
ticular. There is a most utterly pestilent race 
arising, and growing up around us, whose object 
is to destroy Old England, by forbidding a man 
to drink. St. Paul speaks against them, and all 
the great prophets ; and the very first thing that 
was done by our. Lord, after answering them in 
the Temple, was to put them to shame with a 
great many firkins. Also one of the foremost 
parables is concerning bottles, as especially hon- 
est things (while bushels are to the contrary), and 
the tendency of all Scripture is such — whichever 
Testament you take — that no man in his wits can 
doubt it. And though I never read the Koran, 
and only have heard some verses of it, I know 
enough to say positively that Mohammed began 
this movement to establish Antichrist. 

However, my groom said that Parson Chowne, 
though not such a fool as to stop other people, 
scarcely ever took a drop himself ; and his main 
delight was to make low beasts of the clergy who 
had no self-command. And two or three years 
ago he had played a trick on his brother parsons, 
such as no man would ever have tried who took 
his own glass in moderation and enjoyed it heart- 
ily, as Scripture even commands us to do, to pro- 
mote good-fellowship and discretion. Plaving a 
power of visitation, from some faculty he enjoyed, 
he sent all round to demand their presence at a 
certain time for dinner. All the parsons were 
glad enough, especially as their wives could not, 
in good manners, be invited, because there was 
now no Mrs. Chowne. And they saw a rare 
chance to tell good stories, and get on without 
the little snaps which are apt to occur among la- 
dies. Therefore they all appeared in strength, 
having represented it as a high duty, whatever 
their better halves might think. When a parson 
says this, his wife must knock under, or never go 
to church again. Being there, they were treated 
well, and had the good dinner they all deserved, 
and found their host very different from what 
they had been led to expect of him. He gave 
them as much wine as they needed, and a very good 
wine too. He let them tell their stories, though 
his own taste was quite different ; and he even 
humored them, so as tq laugh the while he was 
despising them. And though he could not bear 
tobacco, that and pipes were brought in for them. 

All went smoothly until one of them, edged on 
by the others, called for spirits and hot water. 
This Master Chowne had prepared for, of course, 
and meant to present the things in good time ; 
but now, being gored thus in his own house, the 
dcA'il entered into him. His dark face grew of a 
leaden color, while he begged their pardon. Then 
out he went to Mother Steelyard, and told her 
exactly what to do. Two great jacks of broAvn 
brandy came in, and were placed upon the table, 
and two silver kettles upon the hobs. He begged 
all his guests to help themselves, showing the 
lemons and sugar-caddy, the bottles, and kettles, 
and every thing; and then he left them to their 
own devices, while he talked with Parson Jack, 
who had dropped in suddenly. 

Now, what shall I tell you came to pass — as a 
very great traveller always says — why, only that 
these parsons grew more drunk than despair, or 
even hope. Because in the silver kettles Avas not 
Avater, but Avhisky at boiling-point, and the more 
they desired to weaken their brandy, the more 
they fortified it; until they tumbled out all to- 


gether, in every state of disorder. For this he 
had prepared, by placing at the foot of his long 
steps half a dozen butts of liquid from the clean- 
ing of his drains, meant to be spread on the fields 
next day. And into the Avhole of this they fell, 
and he bolted the doors upon them. 

This made a stir in the clerical circles Avhen it 
came to be talked about ; but upon reference to 
the bishop, he thought they had better say noth- 
ing about it, only be more considerate. And, on 
the Avhole, it redounded greatly to the credit of 
Parson ChoAvne. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

WAITING AND LEARNING. 

What this great man noAv said to me had bet- 
ter not be set doAvn, perhaps ; because it pimed 
him incapable of forming due estimate of my 
charactef. Enough that he caused me some 
alarm and considerable annoyance by his super- 
cilious vein, and assumption of evil motives. 
Whereas you could not find anywhere purer or 
loftier reasons, and, I might say, more poetical 
ones, than those Avhich had led me to abstain from 
speaking of the fair young lady. HoAvever, as 
this ChoAvne had learned all about her, from some 
skulking landsman, Avhom he maintained as a spy 
at the back of the premises, it Avas certain that I 
could in no AA^ay harm her by earning a trifle of 
money in front in a thoroughly open and disci- 
plined Avay. And it might even lie in my poAver 
thereby to defeat the devices of enemies, and res- 
cue this beautiful young female from any one Avho 
would dare to think of presuming to injure her. 

I found my breast and heart agloAv Avith all the 
fine feeling of younger days, the moment the 
above occurred to me ; and it Avould not haA^e 
cost me tAvo bloAvs to knock doAvn any man Avho 
misunderstood me. However, his reA^erence did 
not afford me any chance for this exercise ; but 
seemed to alloAv me the benefit AAdiich such ideas 
afford a man ; and promised to giA^e me three 
half-croAvns, instead of five shillings a Aveek, as 
before. 

He alloAvedme a hay-loft to sleep in that night, 
after taking good care that I had not eA'en a flint 
to strike a light with. For, cordially as he did 
enjoy the firing of an enemy’s barns or stacks, 
his reverence never could bear the idea of so much 
as a spark coming near his OAvn. And the fol- 
loAving morning I saddled my horse, Avith a good 
chain undergirding, and, taking turn and turn 
about, got home to the Rose of Devon. 

And here I found very unjust Avork — Fuzzy 
gone, and Ike not to be found, and the ketch laid 
up for the Avinter. Only Bang, the boy, Avas left, 
and the purpose of his remaining AA-as to bear me 
a wicked message — namely, that I had been so 
much away, both in the boat and on horseback, 
that the captain Avould not be bound to me, ex- 
cept to get home again how I might. And if 
this could not be brought about, and I chose to 
take care of the ketch for the Avinter, tAvo shillings 
a Aveek was Avhat I might draAv, also the Avood on- 
th^ wharf, so long as it Avould last for firing ; and 
any fish I could catch Avith lines ; and any birds 
I could shoot on the river, Avith a stone of rock- 
poAvder that Avas in the hold. 

Bang Avas ashamed to deliver this message ; and 
I can not describe to you my Avrath, as sloAvly I 


8G 


THE MAID OE SKER. 


wrung it out of liim. Ills head went into his 
neck almost, for fear of mv taking it by the han- 
dles, which nature had provided in his two ears, 
and letting him learn (as done once before) that 
the mast had harder knots in it. But I always 
scorn injustice ; and Bang was not to be blamed 
for this. So I treated him kindly ; as I might 
wish a boy of my own to be treated by a man of 
large experience. And I let him go home to his 
mother’s house, which was said to be somewhere 
within a league, and then I went to see what man- 
ners had been shown in the pickling-tub. 

Here I found precious little indeed, and only 
the bottom stuff of coxcombs, tails, and nails, and 
over-hai'i^ings, thready bits, and tape-worm stuff, 
such as we pray deliverance from, unless it comes 
to famine. Nevertheless, in my now condition I 
grieved that there was not more of it. Because, 
how could I get across to my native land again ? 
All the small coasting-craft were laid up, as if 
they w’ere china for shelving, immediately after 
that gale of wind, which (but for me) must have 
capsized us. These fellows up the rivers never 
get a breath of seamanship. Sudden squalls are 
all ■ they think of. Sea-room, and the power of 
it, they would be afraid of. 

At one time I thought of walking home, be- 
cause none of these traders would venture it; 
and if I had only a guinea to start with on the 
road to Bristol, nothing could have stopped me. 
For, say what I might to myself about it, and 
reason however carefully, I could not reconcile 
with my conscience these things that detained 
me. The more I considered only three half- 
crowns, and the mere chance of wild ducks on 
the river, the less I perceived how my duty lay, 
and the more it appeared to be movable. And 
why was I bound to stop here like this, when 
their place was to take me home again, according 
to stipulation ? To apply to. the mayor, as I 
knew, was useless, especially now that I owed 
him a bill ; as for the bench of magistrates, one 
had already a bias against me, because I went 
into a wood one night to watch an eclipse of the 
moon, and took my telescope; which they all 
swore was a gun ! Being disappointed with the 
moon’s proceedings, I slammed up my telescope 
hastily, and at the same time puffed my pipe ; 
and there was a fellow on watch so vile as to 
swear to the sound and the smoke of a gun ! And 
this fellow proved to be a Welshman of the name 
of Llewellyn, and a cousin of mine within seven 
generations ! I acquit him of knowing tliis fact 
at the time; and when in cross-examination I 
let him know it, and nobody else, he came back 
to his duty, and swore white all the black he had 
sworn before. Nevertheless I did not like it 
(though acquitted amidst universal applause) on 
account of the notoriety; and finding him one 
night upon the barge walk, and his manners irri- 
tating, I was enabled to impress him with a sense 
of consanguinity. And after that I might bear 
my telescope, and take observations throughout 
the coverts, whenever the pheasants did not dis- 
turb me. 

This privilege, and a flight of wild ducks, fol- 
lowed by a team of geese, and rumors even of 
two wild swans, moderated my desire to be back 
at home again. There no man can get a shot, 
except in very bitter weather, or when the golden 
plovers come in, unless he likes to take on him- 
self a strong defiance of public opinion. Because , 


i Colonel Lougher is so kind and so forbears to 
prosecute, that to shoot his game is no game at 
all, and shames almost any man afterwards. And 
the glory of all that night-work is, the sense of 
wronging somebody. 

Moreover, a little thing occurred Avhich, in my 
doubt of conclusion, led me to stay a bit longer. 
Some people may think nothing of it, but a kind 
touch takes a hold on me. I have spoken of a 
boy, by the name of Bang, possessing many good 
qualities, yet calling for education. Of this I 
had given him some little, administered not to 
his head alone, but to more influential quarters ; 
and the result was a crop of gratitude watered 
by humility. When he went home for the win- 
ter months, I expected to hear no more of him, 
having been serv’ed in that manner often by boys 
whom I have corrected. Therefore all who have 
CA’er obseiwed the want of thankfulness in the 
young, Avill enter into my feelings when an an- 
cient woman. Bang’s grandmother, hailed mein a 
shaky voice over the side of my ketch, with Bang 
in the distance Avatching her. BetAveen her feet 
Avas a good large basket, Avhich Avith my usual 
fine feeling I leaped out to ease her of. But on 
no account Avould she let me touch it, until she 
kneAv more about me. 

“ Be you the man?” she said. 

“Madam,” I ansAvered, “I be the man.” 

“The man as goes on so AA'icked to Bang, for 
the sake of his soul herearter?” 

“Yes, madam, I am he Avho clothed in the 
Avholesome garb of severity a deep and parental 
affection;” for now I smelled something uncom- 
monly good. 

“Be you the chap as AA’olloped him?” 

“That I can proudly say, I am.” 

“Look’e, see here, this be for ’e, then!” 

With no common self-appro A'al, I observed 
Avhat she turned out; although I longed much to 
unpack them myself, for fear of her spoiling any 
thing. But she put mo back in a Avholesalc man- 
ner, and spread it all out like a market-stand. 
And really it Avas almost enough to make a mar- 
ket of ; for she Avas a A^ery Aviry old Avoman, and 
Bang had helped carry, as far as the Avharf, Avhen 
he saAV me, and fled. Especially did I admire a 
goose, fat Avith golden fat upon him, trussed, and 
laid on stuffing herbs. Also, a little pig for 
roasting, too young to object to it, yet Avith his 
character formed enough to make his brains de- 
licious. And as for sausages — but no more. 

The goodness of these things preserved me 
from going off on the tramp just yet. That is 
the last thing a sailor should do, though gifted 
Avith an iron-tipped Avooden leg. The Govern- 
ment drove me into it once, Avhen my Avound al- 
loAved me to be discharged ; but it took more out 
of my self-respect than ever I have recovered. 
And if I do any thing under the mark (which, to 
my knoAvledge, I never do), it dates from the 
time the king drove me to alms. IIoAvever, I 
neA^er do dwell upon that, unless there is some- 
thing Avrong doAvn in my hold ; and Avhen that is 
right, I am thankful again. And none of that 
eA'er befalls me, AA’hen I get my rations regular. 
But Avho cares to hear any more about me, Avith 
all these great things coming on ? You may look 
on me now as nobody. 

Because I fell so much beneath my OAvn idea 
of myself, and all that others said of me, through 
my nasty Avant of strength Avhen Farson Chowne 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


87 


came over me. It is easy enough to understand 
that a man, in good-nature, may knock under to 
another man of good-nature also — all in fiifend- 
sjiip and in fun, and for the benefit of the world. 
IKit for a man of intellect not so very far under 
the average — as will now be admitted of me, in 
spite of all inborn diffidence — as well as a man 
of a character formjsd and framed by expeiience, 
now to be boarded and violently driven under 
hatches, without any power to strike a blow, by 
a man who was never on board of a ship — at. any 
rate to my knowledge ; to think of this and yet 
not help it, made me chafe like a fellow in irons. 

There was one thing, however, that helped to 
make me put up with my present position a little, 
and that was my hope to be truly of service to 
my genuine benefactor, poor Sir Philip Bamp- 
fylde. This old gentleman clearly was not go- 
ing on very comfortably ; and Parson Chowne 
had given me to understand, without any words, 
that the great chest landed at the end of his 
house was full of arms and all other treason. 
These were to be smuggled in after the captain’s 
departure ; and the captain would not enter the 
house, through fear of the seiwants suspecting 
something. 

I could not reconcile this account with what I 
had seen the young lady do, and the captain’s 
mode of receiving it ; but as I would not tell the 
parson a word about that young lady, I could not 
make that objection to him. Nor did I say, 
though I might have done so, that I would not 
and could not believe for a moment that any 
British naval captain would employ his ship and 
crew for a purpose of high treason to his lawful 
master. That Parson Chowne should dare to 
think that I would swallow such stuff as that, 
made me angry with myself for not having con- 
tradicted him. But all this time I was very 
wise, and had no call to reproach myself. Sel- 
dom need any man repent for not having said 
more than he did ; and never so needeth a 
Welshman. 

And now, though I still took observ’-ation of 
Narnton Court (as in honor bound to deserve my 
salary), and though the parson stiU rode down, 
and went the round of the deck at times when 
nobody could expect him ; yet it was not in my 
nature to be kept from asking something as to 
all tliese people. You may frighten a man, and 
scare his wits, and keep him under, and trample 
on him, and even beat his feelers down, and shut 
him up like a jelly-fish ; but, after all this, if he 
is a man, he will want to know the reason ; for 
this makes half of the difference between man 
and the lower animals: — the latter, when punish- 
ed, accept it as a thing that must befall them; 
and so do the negroes, and all proper women : 
but a man always wants to know why it must be ; 
though it gi-eatly increases his trouble to ask, and 
still more to tell it again, if you please. 

Sir Philip Bampfylde, as every one said, was a 
^very nice gentleman indeed, the head of an an- 
^cient family, and the owner of a large estate. 
Kind, moreover, and affable, though perhaps a 
little stately, from having long held high com- 
mand and important rank in the army. Some 
years ago he had attained even to the rank of 
genei’al, which is the same thing among land- 
forces as an admiral is with us ; and he was so 
proud of this position, that he always wished to 
be so addressed, rather than by the title which 


had been so long in the family. For his argu- 
ment was that he had to thank good-fortune for 
being a baronet, whereas good conduct and perse- 
verance alone could have made him a general. 
Now if these had made him an admiral, I would 
always entitle him so : as it is, I shall call him 
“Sir Philip,” or “General,” just as may happen 
to come to my mind. Now this gentleman had 
two sons, and no other children ; the elder was 
Philip Bampfylde, Esquire, and the younger Cap- 
tain Drake Bampfylde, of whom I have spoken 
already. Philip, the heir, had been appointed to 
manage the family property, which spread for 
miles and miles away ; and this gave him quite 
enough to do, because his father for years and 
years was away on foreign service. And during 
this time Squire Philip married a lady of great 
beauty, sent home by his father from foreign 
parts after rescue from captivity. She was of 
very good extraction, so far as foreigners can be, 
and a princess (they said) in her own right, 
though without much chance of getting it. And 
she spoke the prettiest broken English, being very 
sensitive. 

Well, every thing thus far went purely enough, 
and the lady had brought him a pair of twins, 
and was giving good promise of going on, and 
eveiy body was pleased with her, and most of all 
her husband ; and Sir Philip was come home from 
goveraorship, but only on leave of absence, and 
they were trying hard to persuade him now to 
retire and live in peace, when who should come 
with his evil luck to spoil eveiy thing, but Drake 
Bampfylde ! How it came to pass was not 
clearly known, at least to the folk on our side of 
the river, or those whom I met in Barnstaple. 
And I durst not ask on the farther side, that is 
to say, around Narnton Court, because the par- 
son’s spies were there. Only the old women felt 
pretty sure that they had heard say, though it 
might be wrong, that Captain Drake Bampfylde 
had drowned the children, some said by accident, 
some said on purpose, and buried them some- 
where on Braunton Burrows. And the effect of 
this on the foreign lady, being as she was, poor 
thing, might have been foreseen almost. For 
she fell into untimely pains, and neither herself 
nor her babe survived, exactly as happened to 
my son’s wife. 

This was a very sad story, I thought, but they 
said that the worst of it still lay behind ; for poor 
Squire Philip had been so upset by the hurry of 
all these misfortunes, that nobody knew what to 
do with him. He always had been a most wann- 
hearted man, foolishly fond of his wife and chil- 
dren, and of a soft and retiring nature. More- 
over, he looked on his younger brother, who had 
seen so much more of the world than himself, 
and was of a bolder character, not with an elder 
son’s usual carelessness, but with a thorough ad- 
miration. And when he found him behave in 
this manner (according, at least, to what eveiy 
one said), and all for the sake of the property, 
without a sharp word between them, it went to 
his heart, in the thick of his losses, so that he 
was beside himself. He let his beard grow and 
his hair turn white, although he was not yet for- 
ty, and he put up the shutters of his room, and 
kept candles around him, and little dolls. He 
refiised to see his brother Drake, and his father 
Sir Philip, and every body, except his own at- 
tendant, and the nurse of his poor children. And 


88 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


finding this, the captain left the house, as if cursed 
out of it. 

The only one who took things bravely was the 
ancient general. Much as he grieved at the loss 
of his race, and extinction, perhaps, of the family, 
he swore that he never would be cast down, or 
doubt the honor of his favorite son, until that son 
confessed it. This Drake Bampfylde had never 
done, although the case was hard against him, 
and scarcely any one, except his father, now 
stood up for him. But of the few who still held 
him guiltless, was one especial comforter ; Isabel 
Carey, to wit, a young lady of very good Devon- 
shire family, left as a ward to Sir Philip Bamp- 
fylde, and waiting for three or four years more of 
age, to come into large estates in South Devon. 

The general people did not know this ; but I 
happened to get ahead of them; and having a 
knack in my quiet way of putting two and two 
together, also having seen the captain, and shaped 
ray opinions, I would have staked my boat against 
a cuttle-fish that he was quite innocent. If the 
children were found buried — although I could 
never quite get at this, but only a story of a man 
who had seen him doing it, as I shall tell here- 
after — but even supposing them deep iii the sand 
(which I was a little inclined to do, from trusting 
my spy-glass so thoroughly), yet there might 
have been other people quite as likely to put 
them there as that unlucky Captain Drake. 

It has been ray lot to sail under a great many 
various captains, not only whom I have liinted at 
in the days when I w'as too young for work, but 
whom I mean to describe hereafter in my far 
greater experiences; really finding (although I 
have tried to convince people to the contrary) 
that what they have told me was perfectly true, 
and that I come out far stronger and better when- 
ever my reins are tried and proved ; and my loins 
as sound as a bell, although hereditary from King 
David. Let that pass. I find one fault, and it 
is the only one to be found with me ; it is that 
the style of our bards will come out, and spread 
me abroad in their lofty allusions. 

To come back to these captains. I never found 
one who would do such a thing as kill and slay 
two children, much less dig their graves in the 
sand, and come home to dinner afterwards. And 
of all the captains I had seen, Drake Bampfylde 
seemed as unfit as any to do a thing of that dirti- 
ness. However, as I have not too much trust in 
human nature (after the way it has used me, and 
worst of all when in the Government), I said to 
mj'self that it w'as important to know at what 
time this Captain Bampfylde won the love of that 
fine Miss Carey. Because, after that, he had no 
temptation to put the little ones out of the way ; 
nud I quite settled it in my own mind that, if 
they had set up their horses together before the 
young children went out of the world. Captain 
Drake Bampfylde was not likely to have made 
tl’.em go so. For that fair maiden’s estates, I 
was told, would feed four hundred people. 

No one had seen this exactly as I did, nor 
could I beat it into thern ; and I found from one 
or two symptoms that it was high time for me to 
leave off talking. Parson Chowne came down 
one night, as black as a tarred thunder-bolt, and 
though he said nothing to let me know, I felt 
afraid of his meaning. Also, Parson Jack rode 
down, in his headlong careless way, and filled his 
pipe from my tobacco-bag, and gave me a wink, 


and said, “Keep your mouth shut.” It was al- 
ways a pleasure to me to behold him, whatever 
his principles may have been ; and if I could have 
said a word to stop him from his downward road, 
or to make it go less sudden, goodness knows I 
would have done it, at the risk of three half- 
crowns a week. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE POLITE FERRYaiAN. 

Now, for a man of my age and knowledge, 
keeping an eye on his own conceras, and under 
the eyes of a good many women (eager to have 
him, because confessed superior to the neighbor- 
hood, yet naturally doubtful how much money 
w’ould be wanted), for such a man to attend to 
things which could not concern him in any way, 
without neglecting what now he had found a se- 
rious matter at his time of life — this, to my mind, 
proves a breadth of sympathy rarely found out- 
side of Wales. 

Entering into these things largely, and desiring 
to do ray best, having, moreover, nought else to 
do except among dabs and flounders, I was led 
by a naturally active mind to try to turn a penny ; 
not for my own good so much as for the use of 
Bunny. Therefore, having the punt at command, 
and a good pair of oars, and a good pair of arms, 
what did I do but set up a ferry, such as had 
never been heard of before, and never might have 
been dreamed of, except for my intelligence? 
Because we had two miles to Barnstaple Bridge, 
and no bridge at all to be found below us, and a 
good many houses here and there, on either side 
of the river. And I saw that they must know 
one another, and w^ere longing to dine or to gos- 
sip together, except for the water between them, 
or the distance to walk all the way by the bridge. 
So, being left in this desolate state, and shameful- 
ly treated by Captain Fuzzy, and Bang’s grand- 
mother now^ neglecting me, at a period of sadness, 
while smoking a pipe. Providence gave me this 
brilliant idea. 

I never had dreamed for a moment of settling 
without something permanent ; and not even £30 
a year would tempt me to do any despite to my 
late dear wife’s remembrance. A year and a day 
at the very least was I resolved to mourn for her ; 
still, as the time was drawing on, I desired to 
have some prospect. Not to settle rashly, as 
young people do in such affairs (which really 
should be important), but to begin to feel about, 
and put the price against the w’eight, and then 
take time to think about it. Only I had made 
up my mind not to look twice at the very richest 
and most beautiful Methodist. Enough had I 
had for my life of them, and the fellows that 
come after them ; Church of England, or Church 
of Rome, for me this time at any rate ; with pref- 
erence to the latter, because having no chapel in 
our neighborhood. 

And I worked this ferrjq if you will believe 
me, not for the sake of the two-pence both ways, 
half so much as because of my thoughts of the 
confidence that I must create. I knew for I 
won’t say forty years, but at any rate good thir- 
ty, what women are the very moment they must 
needs come into a boat. The very shyest and 
wisest of them are at the mercy of a man right 
out. And I never could help believing that they 


THE I^IAID OF SKER. 


/ 


89 


come for that very reason. I know all their 
queemess of placing their toes, and how they 
fetch their figures up, and manage to hitch their 
petticoats, and try to suppose they are quite on a 
balance, and then go down plump on the nearest 
thwart, and pretend that they did it on purjDOse. 
Nevertheless they are very good; and we are 
bound to make the best of them. 

When I told Parson Chowne of my ferry-boat 
rather than let him find it out, which of course 
must have happened immediately, a quick gleam 
of wrath at my daring to do such a thing without 
consulting him moved in the depth of his great 
black eyes. At least I believed so, but was not 
sure ; for I never could bear to look straight at 
his eyes, as I do to all other people, especially An- 
thony Stew, Esquire. I thought that my ferry 
would be forbidden ; but with his usual quickness 
he saw that it might serve his purpose in several 
ways — because it would help to keep me there, 
as well as account for my being there, and afford 
me the best chance in the w'orld of watching the 
river traffic. So he changed his frown to an icy 
smile, such as I never could smile at, and said — 

“Behold now what good luck comes of my 
service ! Only remember, no fares to be taken 
when the tide serves for you know what. And 
especially no gossiping.” 

This being settled to my content, I took a great 
piece of loose tarpaulin out of the hold of the 
Rose of Devon^ and with a bucket of thick lime- 
whiting explained to the public in printing letters, 
each as large as a marline-spike, who I was, and 
of what vocation, and how thoroughly trustwor- 
thy. And let any one read it, and then give 
opinion in common fairness, whether any man 
capable of being considered a spy would ever have 
done such a thing as this : 

“ David Llewellyn, Mariner of the Royal Navy, 
Fenyman to King George the Third. Each way 
or both ways only Two-pence. Ladies put care- 
fully over the Mud. Live Fish on hand at an 
hour’s notice, an cl of the choicest Quality.” This 
last statement was not quite so accurate as I could 
have desired. To oblige the public, I kept the 
fish too long on hand occasionally, because I nev- 
er had proper notice when it might be wanted. 
And therefore no reasonable person ever took of- 
fense at me. 

One fine day towards the frosty time, who 
should appear at my landing-stage on the farther 
side of the river, just by the lime-kiln not far from 
the eastern end of Narnton Court — who but a 
beautiful young lady with her maid attending 
her ? The tide was out, .and I was crossing with 
a good six-pennyworth, that being all that my 
boat would hold, unless it were of children. And 
seeing her there, I put on more speed, so as not 
to keep her waiting. When I had carried my 
young Avomen over the mud and receded their 
two-pences, I took off my hat to the fair young 
lady, who had kept in the background, and asked 
to Avhat part I might have the honor of conveying 
her ladyship. 

“I am not a ladyship,” she answered, with a 
beautiful bright smile; “I am only a common 
lady ; and I think you must be an Irishman.” 

This I never am pleased to hear, because those 
Irish are so untruthful ; however, I made her an- 
other fine bow, and let her have her own way 
about it. 

“Then, Mr. Irishman,” she continued; “you 


are so polite, we wall cross the w'ater. No, no, 
thank you,” as I offered to carry her ; “ you may 
carry Nanette, if she thinks proper. Nanette has 
the greatest objection to mud ; but I am not quite 
so particular.” And she tripped with her little 
feet over the bank too lightly to break the green 
cake of the ooze. 

“You sail elave me, my good man,” said Nan- 
ette, w’howas rather a pretty French girl ; “ Mam- 
selle can afford to defigure her dress ; but I can 
no such thing do at all.” 

MeanAvhile tlie young lady was in the boat, sit- 
ting in the stem-sheets like a lieutenant, and 
laughing merrily at Nanette, who was making the 
prettiest fuss in the Avorld, not indeed w'itli regard 
to her legs, Avhich an English girl would have con- 
sidered first, but as to her frills and fripperies ; 
and smelling my quid, she had no more sense than 
to call me a coachman, or something like it. 
However, I took little heed of her, although her 
figure Avas very good ; for I knew that she could 
not haA’e sixpence, and scarcely a hundred a year 
Avould induce me to degrade myself doAvn to a 
real French Avife. For hoAV could I expect my 
son ever to be a sailor ? 

Noav as I pulled, and this fine young lady, Avho 
clearly kneAV something about a boat, nodded her 
head to keep time Avith me, and shoAved her Avhite 
teeth as she smiled at herself, my OAvn head Avas 
almost turned, I declare; and I must have blush- 
ed, if it could have been that tAventy years of the 
fish-trade had left that poAver in me. Because 
this young lady Avas so exactly Avhat my highest 
dreams of a female are, and never yet realized in 
my OAvn scope. And her knoAvledge of a boat, 
and courage, and pleasant contempt of that 
French chit Avho had dared to call me a “coach- 
man,” Avhen added to her Avay of looking over the 
AA'ater Avith fine feeling (such as I A’ery often have, 
and must have shown it long ago), also the Avhole 
of this combined Avith a hat of a very fine texture 
indeed, such as I knew for Italian, and a feather 
that curled over golden pennon of hair in the 
Avind like a Spanish ensign ; and not only these 
things, but a face, and manner, and genuine 
beauty of speech, not to be found in a million of 
Avomen — after dwelling on all these things both 
steadily and soberly, over my last drop of grog, 
before I Avent into my berth that night, and pray- 
ed for the sins of the day to go upAvard, Avhat do 
you think I said on the half-deck, and Avith all 
the stars obserAdng me — “ I am d — d if I’ll serve 
Parson ChoAvne any more.” I said it, and I 
SAA'ore it. 

And Avhen I came to think of it in a practical 
manner next morning, and to balance the ins and 
outs, and Avhat I might come to, if thus led astray 
by a man in holy orders (yet Avhose orders Avere 
all unholy, at any rate such as he gave to me), 
and Avhen I reflected on three half-croAvns for 
finding me in every thing, and then remembered 
hoAV I had turned tAvo guineas in a day, Avhen poor 
Bardie came to me, and Avith a conscience as clear 
as a spent cuttle-fish ; and never a sign of my 
heels behind me, Avhen squeamish customers sat 
dpAA'n to dinner; also good Mother Jones Avith 
sweet gossip, Avhile my bit of flesh Avas grilling, 
and my little nip of rum, and the sound of Bunny 
snoring, Avhile I smoked a pipe and praised my- 
self ; also the pleasure of doubting Avhether they 
could do Avithout me at the “Jolly” through the 
AA'all, and the certain knowledge hoAv the Avhole 


90 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


of the room would meet me, if I could deny my- 
self enough to go among them — these things 
made me lose myself, as in this sentence I have 
done, in longing to find old times and places, and 
old faces, once again, and some one to call me 
“Old Dyo.” 

Now who w'ould believe that the whole of all 
this was wrought in my not veiy foolish mind 
by the sight of a beautiful high-bred face, and the 
sound of a very sweet, softening voice ? Also the 
elegant manner in which she never asked what 
the passage would come to, but gave me a bright 
and true half-crown for herself and that frippery 
French girl. I must be a fool; no doubt I am, 
when the spirit of ancestors springs within me, 
spoiling all trade; as an inborn hiccough ruins 
the best pipe that ever was filled. For though I 
owed three tidy bills, I had no comfort until I 
drilled a little hole in that bright half-crown, and 
hung it with my charms and knobs and caul in- 
side my Jersey. And thus the result became 
permanent, and my happiness was in my heart 
again, and all my self-respect leaped up as ready 
to fight as it ever had been, when I had shaped a 
firm resolve to shake otf Chowne, like the devil 
himself. 

I can not imagine a lower thing than for any 
man to say — and some were even to that degree 
base — that I thus resolved upon calculation, and 
ability now to get on without him, and balance 
of his three half-crowns against the income of my 
ferry, Avith which I admit that his work inter- 
fered. Neither would any but a veiy vile man 
dare to cast reflections upon me for having created 
by skill and eloquence a small snug trade in the 
way of fish, and of those birds which are sent by 
the Lord in a casual way, and without any own- 
ership, for the good of us unestated folk. While 
I deny as unequivocally as if upon oath before 
magistrates, that more than fifty hares ,and pheas- 
ants — but there ! I may go on forever rebutting 
those endless charges and calumnies, which the 
mere force of my innocent candor seems to strike 
out of maliciousness. Once for all, I never poach, 
I never stab salmon, I never smuggle, I never steal 
boats, I never sell fish with any stink outside of 
it — and how can I tell what it does inside, or Avhat 
it may do afterwards? — I never tell lies to any 
body who does not downright call for it ; and you 
may go miles and miles, I am sure, to find a more 
thoroughly honorable, good-hearted, brave, and 
agreeable man. 

Now I did not mean to say any of this when 
I began about it ; neither am I in the habit of 
deigning even to clear myself ; but once begin- 
ning with an explanation, I found it the best to 
start clear again ; because Parson Chowne, and 
my manner towards him (which for the life of 
me I could not help), also my service under him, 
and visit at his house, and so on, and even my 
liking for Parson Jack (after his sale to Satan, 
though managed without his privity), as well as 
my being had up for shooting pheasants with a 
telescope — these and many other things, too 
small now to dwell upon, may have spread a 
cloud betwixt my poor self and my readers, and 
a cloud whose belly is a gale of wind. 

It is not that I ever could do any unworthy 
action. It is simply that I can conceive the pos- 
sibility of it seeming so to those who haA’e never 
met me ; and who from my over-candid account 
(purjjosely shaped dead against myself) may be at 


a loss to enter into the delicacies of my conduct. 
But you shall see by-and-by ; and seeing is be- 
lieving. 

Now it was a lucky thing, that on the A’ery 
morning after I had made my mind up so, and 
before it was altered much, down came Chowne 
in a tearing mood, with his beautiful black mare 
all ill a lather. I was on board of the Rose of 
Devon, smoking my first after-breakfiist pipe, and 
counting my cash from the ferry business of tlie 
day before — except, of course, the half-crown 
which lay among my charms, and strengthened 
me. The ketch was aground in a cradle of sand, 
which she had long ago scooped for herself, and 
which she seldom got out of now, except just to 
float at the top of the springs. She stood almost 
on an even keel, unless it were blowing heaA ily. 
Our punt (or rather I should call her mine by 
this time, for of course she most justly belonged 
to me, after all their breach of contract, and de- 
sertion of their colors) — at any rate, there she was 
afloat and ready for any passenger, vvhile my no- 
tice to the public flapped below the main-boom of 
the ketch. 

“You precious rascal,” cried Chowne, from the 
wharf, with his horse staring at the tarpaulin, and 
half inclined to shy from it ; “who was it crossed 
the river twice in your rotten ferry-boat yesterday ?” 

“Please your reverence,” I answered, calmly 
puffing at my pipe, which I knew would still more 
infuriate him: “will your reverence give me 
time to think ? Let me see — why, let me see — 
there was Mother Pugsley from up the hill, and 
Mother Bidgood from round the corner, and 
Farmer Skinner, and young Joe Thorne, and 
Eliza Tucker from the mill, and Jenny Stribling, 
and Honor Jose, first cousin to our captain, and 
— well I think that’s nearly all that I know the 
name of, your reverence.” 

‘ ‘ I thought you knew me better now than to 
lie to me, Llewellyn. You know what I mean as 
well as I do.” 

“To be sure, to be sure, your reA’erence ; I beg 
your pardon altogether. I ought to have remem- 
bered poor old Nanny Gotobed.” 

The wharf was high, and our gunwale below it ; 
he put his mare at it, clapped in the spurs, and 
before I could think or even wonder, he had me 
by the nape of the neck, Avith his knuckles grind- 
ing into me, and his face, noAv ashy Avhite AA'ith 
rage, fixed on me, so that I could not move. 

“Will you tell me?” he cried. 

“I Avon’t,” said I; crack came his hunting- 
Avhip round my sides — crack, and Avish, and crack 
again ; then I caught up a broken spar, and struck 
him senseless OA'er the tail of his horse. The 
mare ramped all round the half-deck mad, then 
leaped ashore, with her legs all bloody, and scour- 
ed away Avith her saddle off. 

Chowne lay so long insensible, that a cold SAveat 
broke through the heat of my Avrath, to think that 
I had killed him. And but for his hat, I had 
done no less, for I struck Avith the strength of a 
maddened man, and the spar Avas of heavy Dant- 
zic. I untied his neckcloth, and ran for Avater, 
and propped him up, and bathed his forehead, al- 
though my hands Avere trembling so that I could 
scarcely hold the sAvab. And now as I Avatched 
his pale stern face, Avithout a Aveak line in it eA'en 
from fainting, I Avas amazed at haAung CA'er dared 
to lift hand against him. But Avhat Royal NaA-y- 
man could ever put up Avith liorseAvhip? 


4 ^ 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


91 


At last he fetched a strong breath, and opened 
the usual wickedness of his eyes, and knew me at 
once, but did not know exactly what had befallen 
him. I have had a good deal to do with knock- 
ing down a good many men, and know that such 
is their usual practice ; and that if you take them 
promptly then, th^ will sometimes believe tilings 
very freely. Therefore I said, “Your reverence 
has contrived to hit yourself very hard, but I hope 
you will soon be better again.” 

“Hit myself ! Why, somebody hit me !” and 
then he went off again into a doze, from the buzz- 
ing of his head, perhaps. Perceiving that he 
would soon come to himself, and desiring to be 
acquitted of any violent charge of battery, I jump- 
ed down into the hold and fetched an old boom 
that was lying there, and hoisted it up in the 
tackle- foil, so as to hang at about the right height. 
Moreover, I put the spar well away ; and then, 
with a sluice of water, I fetched his reverence back 
to himself again. I found him very correct this 
time, and beginning to look about pretty briskly ; 
therefore I turned him away and said, “Your 
reverence must not look at it — it will make your 
head go round again ; either shut your eyes or 
look away, your worship.” 

He seemed not to notice me, so I went on, 
‘ ‘ Your reverence has had a narrow escape. What 
a mercy your head is not broken ! Your rever- 
ence went to chastise me, and lo ! your horse 
reared and threw your reverence against that great 
boom which that lubberly Jose has left there ever 
since we broke cargo.” 

“You are a liar,” he said; “you struck me. 
To the last day of your life you shall rue it.” 

The voice of his throat ran cold all through me, 
being so low and so cold itself ; and the strength 
of his eyes w'as coming back, and the bitter dis- 
dain of his countenance. The devil, who wanted 
him for a rare morsel in the way of cannibalism, 
stood at my elbow, but luckily thought it sweet- 
er not to hurry it. The foulest man on all God’s 
earth, who made a scoff of mercy’s self, lay at my 
mercy for a minute, defied it, took it, and hated 
it. For the sake of myself, I let him go. For 
the sake of mankind, I should have slain him. 
. — 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

UXDEK FAIRER AUSPICES. 

KxownNG now what I had to expect from 
Parson Chowne and from all his train (whether 
clothed or naked, and even perhaps from Parson 
Jack, who lay beneath his thumb so much, and 
who could thrash me properly, I seized the chance 
of a good high tide, and gave a man sixpence to 
help me, and warped the Rose of Devon to a berth 
where she could float and swing, and nobody come 
a-nigh her without a boat or a swimming-bout. 
Because I knew from so many folk what a fiend 
I had to deal with, and that his first resort for 
vengeance (haply through his origin) generally w'as 
to fire. They told me that when he condescended 
to do duty in either church — for two he had, as I 
may have said — all the farmers took it for a call 
to have their ricks burned. They durst not stay 
away from church, to save the very lives of them, 
nor could they leave their wives behind, on ac- 
count of the unclothed people : all they could hope 
was that no offense had come from their premises 
since last service. The service he held just as 


I suited his mood ; sometimes three months, and 
j the church-door locked : sometimes three Sundays 
' one after the other, man, woman, and child de- 
manded. "Whenever this happened, the congre- 
gation knew that the parish had displeased him, 
and that he wanted them all in church ; while his 
boy was at the stack-yards. He never deigned 
to preach, but made the prayers themselves a 
comedy, singing them up to the clerk’s “amen,” 
and the neigh of his mare from the vestry. 

I can not believe even half that I hear from the 
veiy best authority ; therefore I set nothing down 
which may be overcolored. But the following 
story I know to be true, because seven people 
have told it me, and not any two very different. 
Two or three bishops and arch-deacons (or dea- 
cons of arches, I know not which, at any rate 
high free-masons) desired to know some little 
more about a man in their jurisdiction eminent to 
that extent, and equally notorious. They meant 
no harm at all, but just to take a little feel of him ; 
because he had come to visitation, once or twice 
when summoned, with his huntsman and his 
hounds, and himself in leathern breeches. There 
must have been something amiss in this, or at 
any rate they thought so ; and his lordship, a 
bishop just appointed, made up his mind to tackle 
him. He came in a coach-and-four, and wearing 
all his high canonicals, and they managed some- 
how to get up the hill, and appear at Nympton 
Rectory. Then a footman struck the door with 
a gold stick well embossed ; and he struck again, 
and he struck again, more in dudgeon every time. 

Because no man had yet been seen, nor wom- 
an on the premises ; only dogs very wild and 
mad, but kept away from biting. ‘ ‘ Strike again, ” 
said his lordship, nodding under his wig, with 
some courtesy; “we must never be impatient. 
Jemmy, strike again, my lad.” Jemmy struck a 
thundering stroke, and out came Mrs. Steelyard. 
She looked at them all, and then she said, with 
her eyes full on the bishop’s, “Are you robbers, 
or are you savages? My master in that state 
and you do this!” And they aU saw that she 
could not weep, by reason of too much sorrow. 
“It is the lord bishop,” said the footman, keep- 
ing a little aw’ay from her. “Excellent female,” 
began his lordship, spreading his hands in a hab- 
it learned according to his duties, “tell your mas- 
ter that his Jehoshaphat* wishes to see him.” 
“Mr. Jehoshaphat,” she replied, “you are just in 
time, and no more, sir. How we have longed 
for a minister! You are just in time, and no 
more, sir. Will you have the kindness to come 
this way, and to step as quietly as you can?” 
His lordship liked not the look of this ; being, 
however, a resolute man, he followed the stony 
woman up the staircase, and into a bedroom with 
the window-curtains three-quarters drawn. And 
here he found a pastil burning, and a lot of 
medicine-bottles, and a Bible on the table, open, • 
and on it a pair of spectacles. In the bed lay 
some one, with a face of fire heavily blotched with 
bungs of black, and all his body tossing with 
spasms and weak groaning. “ What means this ?” 
asked his lordship, drawing considerably nearer 
to the door. “ Only the plague,”! said the stony 


* ? Diocesan. 

t There are several entries of deaths from plague in 
parish registers of North Devon, circa 1790. Perhaps 
It was what they now call “black fever,” the most vir- 
ulent form of typhus. 


92 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


woman; “he was took with it yesterday; doc- 
tor says he may last two hours more almost, par- 
ticular if he can get any body to take the symp- 
toms off him. I expect to be down with it some 
time to-night, because I feel the tingling. But 
your highness will stop and help us.” “I am 
d — d if I will,” cried the bishop, sinking both 
manners and dignity in the violence of alarm ; 
and he ran down the stairs at such a pace that 
his apron-strings burst, and he left it behind, and 
he jumped into the coach with his two feet fore- 
most, and slammed up the windows, and ordered 
full speed. Then Parson Chowne rose, and threw 
otf his mask, and drew back the window-curtain, 
and sat in his hunting-clothes, and watched with 
his usual bitter smile the rapid departure of his 
foe. And he had the bishop’s apron framed, and 
hung it in the parsonage hall, from a red-deer’s 
antlers, with the name and date below. And so 
of that bishop he heard no more. 

Now a man who had beaten three bishops, and 
all the archdeacons in the country, was of course 
tenfold of a match for me ; and when he rode 
down smoothly to me, as he did in a few days’ 
time, and never touched on our little skirmish, 
except with a sort of playful hit (so far as his 
haughty mind could play), and riding another 
horse without a word about the mischief w'hich 
his favorite mare had taken, and demanded, as a 
matter of justice, that having quitted his service 
now, I should pay back seven-and-sixpence drawn 
in advance for wages, I Avas obliged to touch my 
hat, as if I had never made stroke at his, or put 
my knee upon him. He had flogged me to such 
purpose that I ever must admire him ; for the 
flick of the boatSAvain’s lash Avas a tickle com- 
pared to Avhat ChoAvne took out of me ; and if I 
must tell the Avhole truth, I AA'as prouder of haA"- 
ing knocked down such a Avonderful man than of 
all my victories put together. But one of my 
Avcak and unreasonable views of life is this, that 
haAung thrashed a man, I feel a great power of 
good-Avill to him, and a desire to gwe him quar- 
ter, and the more so the less he cries for it. 

But, on the AA^hole, I was not so young, after 
all that Avas said by every body, as to imagine for 
a moment that I had felt the last of him. The 
A’ery highest in the land had been compelled to 
yield to him ; as Avhen he turned out my Lord 

G ’s horses from the stabling ordered at Lord 

G ’s inn. Would such a man accept defeat 

fi om a crazy old mariner like me ? Feeling my 
danger, and meaning never to knock under any 
more, I refused, as a matter of principle, to re- 
store so much as a half-penny ; and if I under- 
stand law at all, he was bound to giA’e me anoth- 
er Aveek’s wages, in default of notice. However, 
I could not get it ; and therefore am glad to quit 
such trifles. 

From all experience it was knoAvn that this 
man neA^er hurried A’engeance. He kneAV that he 
Avas sure to get it ; and he liked to dAvell upon 
it, thus prolonging his enjoyment by the means 
of hope. He loved, as in the case of that unfor- 
tunate Captain Vellacott, to persuade his enemies 
that he had forgiven, or at least forgotten them, 
and then to surprise them, and laugh to himself 
at their ignorance of his nature. So I felt pretty 
sure that I had some time till my life Avould be in 
danger. For, of course, he kneAV that my ferry 
business, groAving in profit daily, Avould keep me 
Avithin his reach for the present, over and above 


' the difficulty of getting across the Channel now. 
HoAvever, he began upon me sooner than I ex- 
pected, on account, perhaps, of my low degree. 

But in the mean Avhile, feeling sure that I could 
not stand Avorse Avith him than I did — desiring, 
moreover, to ease my conscience, and perhaps 
improve my income, by an act of justice — I 
crossed the river to Narnton Court, and getting 
among the servants nicely, sent Avord in to IMiss 
Isabel Carey that the old ferryman begged leave 
to see her upon business most particular. For, 
of course (although, in the huny of things, I may 
have forgotten to mention it), the lovely young 
lady I ferried across, and Avhose name I Avas 
thrashed so for not betraying, Avas Captain 
Drake’s sAveetheart, the ward of Sir Philip. 

One of the most hateful things in Chowne Avas, 
that he neA'er did any thing in the good old-fash- 
ioned manner, unless it Avere use of the horse- 
Avhip. And it now rejoiced my heart almost to 
be shown into a fine dark room, by the side of 
good long passages, Avith a footman going before 
me, and showing legs of a quite superior order, 
and then under my instructions boldly throAving 
an oaken door Avide, and announcing, “Mr. Da- 
vid LleAvellyn, ma’am!” 

For though I had left Felix Farley behind, 
from a sort of romantic bashfulness, I had seen 
in the hall a colored gentleman, Avho seemed 
justly popular ; therefore I had just dropped a 
hint (not meant to go any farther) concerning 
my risk of life and fortitude for the sake of black 
men. And this made tbe Avomen admire me, for 
it turned out that this AA'orthy negro stood high 
in the house, and had saved some cash. The 
room Avhich I entered Avas large and high, Avith 
an amazing number of books in it, and smelling 
exceeding learned. And there in a deep windoAv 
sat the young lady, Avith the light from the river 
glancing on the bright elegance of her hair. And 
Avhen she rose and came towards me, I felt un- 
commonly proud of haA’ing been even thrashed 
for her sake: nor did I wonder at Captain 
Drake’s warm manner of proceeding, or at 
ChoAvne’s resolve to keep so jealous a AA-atch over 
her. Over and aboA^e her beauty, Avhich Avas no 
business of mine, of course, she had such pretty 
eyebroAvs and so sweet a Avay of looking, that a 
thrill AA’ent to my experienced heart, in spite of 
all experience; and Avomen seemed a different 
thing from Avhat I Avas accustomed to. 

Therefore I left her to begin ; Avhile I made 
boAvs, and felt afraid of giving offense by gazing. 
She, hoAveA^er, put me at my ease almost directly, 
having such a high-bred Avay, so clarified and 
gentle, that I neither could be distant nor famil- 
iar Avith her. Only to be quite at ease, like, re- 
spect, and love her. And this lady Avas only 
about seventeen ! It is Avonderful how they learn 
so much. 

I need not folloAv all I said, or even Avhat she 
said to me. Without for a moment sacrificing 
my true sense of dignity, I gave her to under- 
stand, very mildly, that I had seen something, 
and had taken a A'ague sense of its import, Avhen 
I chanced to be after Avild ducks. Also that 
strong attempts had been made to set me spying 
after her, and that I might haA^e yielded to them, 
but for my own lofty sense of being a A’ictorious 
A’eteran, and the AA'ay in Avhich I Avas conquered 
by her extraordinary beauty. 

She seemed for a moment to doubt hoAv far I 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


93 


should have touched that subject; and if I had 
only looked up she would have rung the bell de- 
cidedly. But I bowed, and kept down my eye- 
lashes; which were gray now, and helped me 
much in paying innocent compliments to eveiy 
kind of woman. Even in the bar of very first- 
rate public-houses have I been pressed to take, 
and not pay for, glasses even of ancient stingo, 
because of the way I have paid respects, and 
looked through my shadows afterwards. There- 
fore this young lady said, “I hardly know what 
to do or say. Mr. Llewellyn, it is a strange tale. 
Why should any one watch me?” 

“That is more than I can say, my lady. I 
only know that the thing is done, and by a very 
wicked man indeed. ” 

“And you have found it out, as ferryman? 
How clever of you, to be sure ! And how honest 
to come and tell me! You have been a royal 
sailor ?” 

“In the Royal Navy, ma’am! Our captains 
are the most noble men, so brave, and glorious, 
and handsome! If you could only see one of 
them ! ” 

“Perhaps I have,” she said, under her breath, 
being carried away by my description, as I hoped 
to do to her ; and then she came back through a 
shading of colors to herself, and looked at me, 
as if to say, “Have you detected me now?” I 
touched my lock ; and by no means seemed to 
have dreamed a suspicion of any thing. 

“You are a most worthy man,” she said; 
“and wonderfully straightforward. None but a 
Royal Navy sailor could have behaved so nobly. 
In spite of all the bribes offered you — ” 

“No, no, no !” I cried ; “nothing to speak of! 
nothing to speak of! What is a guinea and a 
half a week when it touches a man’s integrity ?” 

“ Three guineas a week you shall have at once ; 
because you have behaved so nobly, and because 
you have fought for your country so, and been 
left with nothing (I think you said), with half of 
your lungs quite shot away, except two-pence a 
day to live upon ! ” , 

“One-and-eightpence farthing a week, my 
lady ; and to be signed by a clergyman ; and 
twenty-eight miles to walk for it.” 

“It vexes me so to hear such things. Don’t 
tell me any more of it. What is the use of 
having money except for the people who w’ant 
it ? Mr. Llewellyn, you must try not to be of- 
fended.” 

I saw that there was something coming, but 
looked very grave about ir. A man of my rank 
and mark must never be at all ready, and much 
less eager, to lay himself under any form of tri- 
fling obligation. And thoroughly as she had 
won me over, I tried very hard not to be offended, 
while she was going to a small black desk. 

If she had come thence with a guinea or two, 
my mind was made up to do nothing more than 
gracefully wave it back again, atid show myself 
hurt at such ignorance of me. But now when 
she came with a five-pound note (such as Sir 
Philip seemed to keep in stock), my duty to Bar- 
die and Bunny rose as upright as could be before 
my eyes, and overpowered all selfish niceties. I 
would not make a fuss about it, lest I might hurt 
her feelings, but placed it in my pocket with a 
bow of silent gratitude. Perhaps my face con- 
veyed to her that it w'as not the money I cared 
for ; only to do what Avas just and right, as any 


British sailor must when delicately handled. Also 
her confidence in me was so thoroughly sweet and 
delicate, that I felt the Avhole of my heart wrapped 
up in saving her from her enemies. We made 
no arrangements about it ; but I went into her 
service bodily, being left to my own discretion, 
as seemed due to my skill and experience. I 
was to keep the ferry going, because of the ojj- 
portunities, as Avell as to lull suspicion, and al- 
ways at dark I was bound to be (according to 
my own proposal) near the river front of the 
house, to watch against all Avicked treachery. 
And especially if a spy of Chowne’s should come 
sneaking and skulking there, Avhether in a boat or 
out of it, I gladly A'olunteered to thrash him Avith- 
in an inch of his foul base life. The bad man’s 
name never passed betAveen us ; and indeed I 
may say that the lady forbore from committing 
herself against any body, so that I Avas surprised 
to find such Avit in one so youthful. 

We settled between us that my duties Avere to 
begin that A'eiy day, and my salary of course to 
run, also how the lady Avas to let me knoAv Avheu 
Avanted, and I to tell her Avhen I discoA^ered any 
thing suspicious. And as I had been compelled 
to restore the parson’s gun to his gun-maker, 
Miss Carey led me to a place you might almost 
call an armory, and bade me choose any piece I 
liked, and her own maid shotild place it Avliere I 
could find it that same evening, as though it Avei e 
to shoot Avild-foAvl for them. But she advised 
me on no account to haA^e any talk Avith Nanette, 
or any servants of the household, Avhether male 
or female, not only because of the Avicked reports 
and cruel slanders prevailing, but also that it 
might not be knoAvn hoAV I AA'as to act in her in- 
terest. And then, having ordered me a good hot 
dinner in the butler’s pantry, as often Avas done 
for poor people, she let me go once, and then 
called me back, and said, “Oh, nothing;” and 
then called me again, and said, looking steadily 
out of the windoAv, “ I3y-the-by, I have quite for- 
gotten to say that there is a boat belonging to a 
ship commanded by a son of Sir Philip Bampfylde, 
a white boat, Avith three oars on each side, and 
sometimes an officer behind them. If they should 
happen to come up the river, or to go ashore upon 
business here, you need not — I mean, you Avill 
quite understand that no harm AvhateA'er is in- 
tended to me, and therefore that you may — you 
see Avhat I mean.” 

“To be sure, to be sure, my lady. Of course 
I may quit my duty so long as there is a man- 
of-AA"ar’s boat in the river ; eA'en the boldest and 
Avorst of men would venture nothing against you 
then.” 

“ Quite so,” she replied, looking bravely round, 
Avith as much of pride in her bright blue eyes as 
of color on her soft fresh cheeks. So I made my 
best bo and departed. 

» 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

TAVO POOR CHILDREN. 

Br this time I owe it to all the kind people 
Avho have felt some pity for our Bardie and her 
fortunes to put off no longer a few little things 
AA'hich I ought to tell them. In the first place, 
they must not think of me, but look upon me as 
nobody (treat me, in fact, as I treat myself), and 


94 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


never ask what I knew just now, and w'hat I 
came to know afterwards. Only to trust me (as 
now they must) to act in all things honorably, 
and with no regard to self; and not only that, 
but with lofty feeling, and a sense of devotion to- 
wards the members of the weaker sex. 

Captain Drake Bampfylde W'as the most un- 
lucky of born mortals. To begin with, he was 
the younger son of that very fine Sir Philip, and 
feeling that he had far more wit and enterprise 
than his elder brother, while thankful to nature 
for these endowments, he needs must feel amiss 
with her for having mismanaged his time of birth. 
Now please to observe my form of words. I 
never said that he did so ieel, I only say that 
lie must have done so, unless she had made him 
beyond herself ; which, from her love for us, she 
hardly ever tries to do. However, he might 
have put up with that mistake of the goddess that 
sits cross-legged — I have heard of her, I can tell 
you, and a ship named after her ; though to spell 
her name would be a travail to me, fatal per- 
haps at my time of life — I mean to say, at any 
rate, that young Drake Bampfylde might have 
managed to get over the things against him, and 
to be a happy fellow, if he only had common 
luck. But Providence having gifted him with 
unusual advantages of body, and mind, and so 
forth, seemed to think its duty done, and to leave 
him to the devil afterwards. 

This is a bad way of beginning life, especially 
at too young an age to be up to its philosophy ; 
and the only thing that can save such a man is 
a tremendous illness, or the downright love of a 
first-rate woman. Thence they recover confi- 
dence, or are brought into humility, and get a 
bit of faith again, as well as being looked after 
purely, and finding a value again to fight for, 
after abandoning their own. Not that Drake 
Bampfylde ever did slip into evil courses, so far 
as I could hear of him, or even give w'ay to the 
sense of luck, and abandon that of duty. I am 
only saying how things turn out with nineteen 
men out of twenty. In spite of chances, he may 
have happened just to be the tw’entieth. I know 
for sure that he turned up well, though vexed 
with tribulation. Evil times began upon him 
when he was nothing but a boy. He'Tell into a 
pit of trouble through his education ; and ever 
since from time to time new grief had overtaken 
him. A merrier little chap, or one more glad to 
make the best of things, could not be found — as 
was said to me by the cook, and also the parlor- 
maid. He would do things, when he came out 
among the seiwants, beautifully ; and the maids 
used to kiss him so that his breath was taken 
away with pleasing them. And then he went to 
school, and all the maids, and boys, and men al- 
most, came out to see the yellow coach, and 
throw an old shoe after him. This, however, 
did not help him, as was seriously hoped ; and 
why ? Because it went heel-foremost, from the 
stupidity of the caster. News came, in a little 
time, that there W'as mischief upward, and that 
Master Drake must be fetched home, to give any 
kind of content again ; for he was at an ancient 
grammar-school in a town seven miles from Exe- 
ter, where every thing was done truly well to keep 
the boys from fighting. Only the habit and tra- 
dition was that if they must fight, fight they 
should until one fell down and could not come 
to the scratch again. And Drake had a boy of 


j equal spirit with his oum to contend against, not, 
however, of bone and muscle to support him thor- 
oughly. But who could grieve, or feel it half so 
much as young Drake Bampfylde did, when the 
other boy, in three days’ time, died from a buz- 
zing upon his brain? He might have got into 
mischief now, even though he was of far higher 
family than the boy who had foundered instead 
of striking ; but chiefly for the good-will of the 
school, and by reason of the boy’s father having 
plenty of children still to feed, and consenting to 
accept aid therein, that little matter came to be 
settled among them very pleasantly. Only the 
course of young Drake’s life was changed thereby, 
as follows: 

The plan of his family had been to let him get 
plenty of learning at school, and then go to Ox- 
ford colleges and lay in more, if agreeable ; and 
so grow into holy orders of the Church of En- 
gland, well worth the while of any man who has a 
good connection. But now it was seen, without 
thinking twice, that all the disturbers and blas- 
phemers of the Non-conformist tribe, now arising 
everywhere (as in dirty Hezekiah, and that greasy 
Hepzibah, who dared to dream such wickedness 
concerning even me), every one of these rogues 
Avas sure to cast it up against a parson, in his 
most heavenly stroke of preaching, that he must 
hold his hand, for fear of killing the clerk beneath 
him. And so poor Drake was sent to sea — the 
place for all the scape-goats. 

Here ill-fortune dogged him still, as its man- 
ner always is, after getting taste of us. He heed- 
ed his business so closely that he tumbled into 
the sea itself; and one of those brindle-bellied 
sharks took a mouthful out of him. Neverthe- 
less he got over that, and fell into worse trouble 
— to wit, in a very noble fight between his Bri- 
tannic Majesty’s sloop of war Hellgoblins, carry- 
ing twelve guns and two carronades (which came 
after my young time), and the French corvette 
Heloise, of six-and-twenty heavy guns, he put 
himself so forward that they trained every gun 
upon him. Of course those fellows can never 
shoot any thing under the height of the moon, 
because they never stop to think; nevertheless he 
contrived .to take considerable disadvantage. By 
a random shot they carried oft' the whole of one 
side of his whiskers ; and the hearing of the oth- 
er car fell oft’, though not involved in it. The 
doctors could not make it out : however, I could 
thoroughly, from long acquaintance with cannon- 
balls. Also, he had marks of powder under his 
skin, that would never come out, being of a coarse- 
grained sort, and something like the bits of tea 
that float in rich folks’ tea-cups. Happening, as 
he did by nature, to be a fine, florid, and hand- 
some man, this powder vexed him dreadfully. 
Nevertheless the ladies said, loving powder of 
their own, that it made him look so much nicer. 

'That, how'ever, w’as quite a trifle when com- 
pared to his next misfortune. Being gazetted to 
a ship, and the whole crew proud to sail under 
him, he left the Dowms with the W'ind abaft, and 
all hands in high spirits. There Avas nothing 
those lads could not have done; and in less than 
twelve hours they could do nothing. A terrible 
gale from south-west arose; in spite of utmost 
seamanship they W’ere caught in the callipers of 
the Vame, and not a score left to tell of it. 

These Avere things to try a man, and prove the 
stuff inside him. HoweA-er, he came out gallant- 


95 


THE MAID 

ly. For being set afloat again, after swimming 
all night and half a day, he brought into the ' 
Portland Koads a Crappo ship of twice his ton- | 
nage, and three times his gunnage ; and now his 
sailors were delighted, having hope of prize-mon- 
ey. That they never got, of course (which, no 
doubt, was all the better for their constitutions), 
but their knowledge of battle led them to embark 
again with him, having sense (as we always have) 
of luck, and a crooked love of a man whose bad 
luck seems to have taken the turn. And yet 
their judgment was quite amiss, and any turn 
taken was all for the worse. Captain Bampfylde 
did a thing which even I, in my hotter days, 
would rather have avoided. He ran a thirty-two 
gun frigate tmder the chains of a sixty-four. He 
thought that they must shoot over him, while he 
laid his muzzles to her water-line, and then car- 
ried her by boarding. 

Notliing could have been finer than this idea 
of doing it, and with eight French ships out of 
nine, almost, he must have succeeded. But once 
more his luck came over, like a cloud, and dark- 
ened him. The Frenchmen had not only cour- 
age (which they have too much of), but also, what 
is not their gift with lucky people against them, 
self-command and steadiness. They closed their 
lower ports, and waited for the Englishmen to 
come up. They knew that the side of their ship 
fell in, like the thatch of a rick, from the lower 
ports, ten feet above the enemy. They had their 
nettings ready, and a lively sea was running. 

It grieves as well as misbecomes me to describe 
the rest of it. The Englishmen swore with all 
their hearts at their ladders, the sea, and every 
thing, and their captain was cast down between 
the two ships, and compelled to dive tremendous- 
ly ; in a word, it came to this, that our people 
either were totally shot and drowned, or spent 
the next Sunday in prison at Brest. ’ 

Now here was a thing for a British captain, 
such as the possibility of it never could be dream- 
ed of. To have lost one ship upon a French 
shoal, and the other to a Frenchman! Drake 
Bampfylde, but for inborn courage, must have 
hanged himself outright. And, as it was, he 
could not keep from unaccustomed melancholy. 
And, when he came home upon exchange, it was 
no less than his duty to abandon pleasure now, 
and cheerfulness, and comfort ; only to consider 
hovv' he might redeem his honor. 

In the tliick of this great trouble came another 
three times worse. I know not how I could have 
borne it, if it had been my case, stoutly as I fight 
against the public’s rash opinions. For this cap- 
tain was believed, and with a deal of evidence, to 
have committed slaughter upon his brother’s chil- 
dren, and even to have buried them. He found 
it out of his power to prove that really he had not 
done it, nor had even entertained a wish that it 
might happen so. Every body thought how much 
their dying must avail him ; and though all had 
a good idea of his being upright, most of them 
felt that this was nothing in such strong tempta- 
tion. I have spoken of this before, and may be 
obliged again to speak of it ; only I have rebutted 
always, and ever shall rebut, low ideas. Yet if 
truly he did kill them, was he to be blamed or 
praised, for giving them good burial ? The testi- 
mony upon this point was no more than that of 
an Tinclad man, which must of course have been 
worthless ; until they put him into a sack, and in 


OF SEEK. 

that form received it. This fellow said that he 
was coming home towards his family, very late 
one Friday night; and he knew that it was Fri- 
day night because of the songs along the road of 
the folk from Barnstaple market. He kept him- 
self out of their way because they had such a 
heap of clothes on ; and being established upon 
the sands, for the purpose of washing his wife and 
children, who never had seen water before, and 
had therefore become visited, he made a short cut 
across the sands to the hole they had all helped to 
scoop out, in a stiff place where some roots grew. 
This was his home ; and not a bad one for a sea- 
side visit. At any' rate, he seemed to have been 
us happy there as any man with a family can ex- 
perience ; especially when all the members need 
continual friction. 

This fine fellow was considering how he could 
get on at all with that necessary practice, if the 
magistrates should order all his frame to be cov- 
ered up ; and fearing much to lose all chance of 
any natural action — because there was a crusade 
threatened — he lay down in the moonlight, and 
had a thoroughly fine roll in the sand. Before 
he had worn out this delight, and while he stop- 
ped to enjoy it more, he heard a sound, not far 
away, of somebody digging rapidly. Or at any 
rate, if it was not digging, it was something like 
it. The weather was wonderfully hot, so that 
the rushes scarcely felt even cool to his breast 
and legs. In that utterly lonely place (for now 
the road was a mile behind him, and the sands 
without a track, and the stars almost at mid- 
night), there came upon him sudden fright, im- 
possible to reason with. He had nothing to be 
robbed of, neither had he enemy ; as for soul, he 
never yet had heard of any such ownership. But 
an unknown latitude of terror overpowered him. 
Nothing leads a man like fear; and this poor 
savage, though so naked, was a man of some 
sort. 

Therefore, although he would far liefer have 
skulked off in the crannying shadows, leaving the 
moon to see to it, he could by no means find the 
power to withdraw himself like that. The sound 
came through the rushes, and between the moon- 
lit hillocks, so that he was bound to follow it. 
Crouching through the darker seams, and setting 
down his toe-balls first, as naked feet alone can 
do, step by step he drew more near, though long- 
ing to be farther off. And still he heard the 
heel-struck spade, and then a cast, and then the 
sullen sound of sand a-sliding. Then he came to 
a hollow place, and feared to turn the corner. 

Being by this time frightened more than any'' 
words can set before us, back he stroked his 
shaggy hair, and in a hat of rushes laid his poor 
wild face for gazing. And in the depth of the 
hollow where the moonlight scarcely marked it- 
self, and there seemed a softer herbage than of 
dry junk-rushes, but the banks combed over so as 
to" bury the whole three fathoms deep at their 
very first subsiding — a man was digging a small 
deep grave. 

On the slope, of the bank, and so as to do no 
mischief any longer, two little bodies lay put 
back ; not flung anyhow ; but laid, as if respect 
was shown to them. Each had a clean white 
night-gown on, and lay in decorous attitude, only 
side by side, and ready to go into the grave to- 
gether. The man who was digging looked up at 
them, and sighed at so much necessity ; and then 


96 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


fell to again, and seemed desirous to have done 
Avith it. 

So was the naked man who watched him, fright 
by this time overcreeping even his very eyeballs, 
lie blessed himself for his harmlessness, and ill- 
will to discipline, all the way home to his own 
sand-hill ; and a hundred-fold when he came to 
know (after the dregs of fright had cleared) that 
he had seen laid by for coolness, by this awful 
grave-digger, the cocked hat of a British captain 
in the Royal Navy. This hat he had seen once 
before, and wondered much at the use of it, and 
obtained an explanation which he could not help 
remembering. And fitting this to his own ideas, 
he was as sure as sure could be that Captain 
Bampfylde was the man who was burying the 
children. 

Now when this story reached the ears of poor 
old Sir Philip, whether before or after his visit to 
our country matters not, it may be supposed what 
his feelings were of sorrow and indignation. He 
sent for this savage, who seemed beyond the rest 
of his tribe in intelligence, as indeed was plainly 
shown by his coming to bathe his family, and in 
spite of all the difference of rank and manner be- 
tween them, questions manifold he put, but never 
shook his story. And then he sent to Exeter for 
a lawyer, thoroughly famous for turning any man 
inside out and putting what he pleased inside 
him. But even he was altogether puzzled by 
this man in the sack, wherein he now lived for 
decorum’s sake, however raw it made him. And 
the honest fellow said that clothing tempted him 
so to forsake tlie truth, when he could not tell his 
own legs in it, that it sapped all principle. 

That question is not for me to deal with, nor 
even a very much wiser man, except that my 
glimpses of foreign tribes have all been in fa- 
vor of nudity. And the opposite practice is ev- 
idently against all the bent of our civilized wom- 
en, who are perpetually rebelling, and more and 
more eager to open their hearts to their natural 
manifestation. For the heart of a woman is not 
like a man’s, “ desperately wicked and how can 
they prove this unless they show its usual style 
of working? Only the other day I saw — but 
back I must go to the he^rt of my tale. In a 
word, this fine male savage convinced every one 
he came into contact with (which after his bath- 
ing was permitted, if the other man bathed after- 
wards), that truly, surely, and with no mistake, 
he must have seen something. What it was, be- 
came naturally quite another question ; and upon 
this head no two people could be found of one 
opinion. But though it proved an important 
point, I v;j.ll not dwell too long on it. 

Captain Drake’s boat, to my firm belief, never 
came once up the river now ; and I thought that 
my beautiful young lady seemed a little grieved 
at this. Every now and then she crossed, on her 
way to see old women, and even that old Mother 
Bang ; and the French maid became a plague to 
me. She had laid herself out to obtain me, be- 
cause of the softness with which I carried her ; 
and her opposition to my quid naturally set her 
heart all the more upon me. I will not be false 
enough to say that I did not think of her some- 
times, because she really did go on in a tantaliz- 
ing manner. And we seemed to have between 
us something when her lady’s back was turned. 
However, she ought to have known that I never 
mean ariy thing by this ; and if she chose to lie 


back like that, and put her red lips toppermost, 
the least thing she should have done was first to 
be up to our manners and customs. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

A FINE OLD GENTLEMAN. 

When I came to look round upon this state 
of things and consider it, I made up my mind to 
tempt Providence, or rather perhaps the most op- 
posite Power, by holding on where I v/as, in spite 
of the parson and all his devices. This was a 
stupid resolve, and one on which he had fully cal- 
culated. I was getting a little, perhaps, fond of 
Nanette, though not quite so much as she fan- 
cied ; feeling unable to pin my faith to a thing 
she had whispered into my ear — to wit, that she 
would thrice soon inherit one three grand mon- 
ey, hunder tousand, more than, one great sti-ong 
man could leeft. I asked her to let me come 
and try ; and she said it was possible to be. 
Having a thorough acquaintance with Crappos, 
and the small wretched particles of their money, 

I did not attach much importance to this ; for I 
like our king’s face, and they have not got it ; 
and they seem to stamp their stuff anyhow. But 
in spite of all prejudice, it would be well to look 
a little into it ; particularly as this girl (whether 
right or wrong in thousands) had a figure not to 
be denied, when you came home to her. 

Nevertheless I am not the man to part with 
myself at random ; and there was a good fiirm- 
er’s daughter now, solid, and two-and-thirty — 
which is my favorite ship to sail in, handy, strong, 
and with guns well up — this young woman cross- 
ed the ferry, at eightpence a day, for my sake ; 
and I thought of retaining a lawyer to find what 
might be her prospects. She was by no means 
bad to look at, Avhen you got accustomed ; and 
her nature very kind, and likely to see to Bunny’s 
clothes ; also she never contradicted ; which is 
cotton-wool to one who ever has rheumatics. 
But I did not wish to pay six-and-eightpence, 
and then be compelled to lose eightpence a day 
in order to steer clear of her. So I ferried both 
her and Nanette alike, and let them encounter 
one another, and charged no difference in their 
weight. 

Nothing better fits a man for dealing with the 
womankind than to be well up in fish. Now I 
found the benefit of that knowledge where I nev- 
er looked for it ; and I knew the stale from the 
fresh — though these come alike in the pickle of 
matrimony — also (which is far more to the point) 
the soft roes from the hard roes. These you can 
not change ; but must persuade yourself to like 
whichever you happen to get of them. And that 
you find out afterwards. 

While I was dwelling upon these trifles, and 
getting on well with my serious trade, working 
my ferry, and catching salmon so as to amaze the 
neighborhood, also receiving my well-eanied sal- 
ary from the fair Mistress Isabel, and surprising 
the public-houses every night with my narratives 
— in a word, becoming the polar-star of both sides 
of the river — a thing befell me which was quite 
beyond all sense of reason. 

Through wholesome fear of Parson Chowne, 
and knowledge of his fire-tricks, I kept the Rose 
of Devon in a berth of deep fresh water, where a 


THE IVEVID OF SKER. 


97 


bulk of sand backed up, and left a large calm 
pool of river. Here the dimpling water scarce- 
ly had the life to flow along, when the tide was 
well away, and scarcely brought a single bubble 
big enough to break upon us. According to the 
weather, so the color of the water was. Only 
when you understood, it seemed to please you 
always. 

One night I was not asleep, but getting very 
near it ; setting in my mind afloat (as I felt the 
young tide flowing) thoughts, or dreams, or light- 
er visions than the lightest dream that flits, of, 
about, concerning, touching, anyhow regarding, 
or, in any lightest side-light, gleaming, who can 
tell, or glancing from the checkers of the day- 
work. Suddenly a great explosion blew me out 
of my berth, and filled the whole of the cuddy 
with blaze and smoke. I lay on the floor half- 
stunned, and with only sense enough for won- 
dering. Then Providence enabled me, on the 
strength of the battles I had been through, to get 
on my elbow and look around. Every thing 
seemed quite odd and stupid for a little while to 
me. I neither knew where I was, nor what had 
happened or would happen me. 

It may have been half an hour, or it may have 
been only half a minute, before I was all alive 
again, and able to see to the mischief. Then I 
found that a very rude thing had been done, and 
a most ixnclerical action, not to be lightly ex- 
cused, and wholly undesen'ed on my part. A 
good-sized kettle of gunpowder had been cast 
into my cuddy, possibly as a warning to me ; but, 
to say the least, a dangerous one. My wrath 
ovei'came all fear so much, that, in spite of the 
risk of meeting others, I rushed through the 
smoke and up the ladder, and seized my gun 
from its sling on the deck, and gazed (or rather 
I should say stared) in every direction around 
me. But whether from the darkness of the 
niglit, or the stinging and stunning turmoil in 
my eyes and upon my brain, I could not descry 
any moving shape, or any living creature. And 
this even added to my alarm, so that I got very 
little more sleep that night, I do assure you. 

However, I kept my own counsel about it, 
even from my lady patroness, resolving to main- 
tain a sharp look-out, and act as behooved a gal- 
lant Cymro, thrown among a host of savages. 
To this intent, I took our tiller, which was just 
about six feet long, and entirely useless now, and 
I put a bit of a bottom to it, so as to stand quite 
decently, and fixed a cross-tressel for shoulders, 
and then dressed it up so with my old fishing- 
suit and a castaway hat to encourage my brains, 
that really, though the thing was so grave, I 
could not help laughing at myself ; in the dusk 
it was so like me. When the labors of the day 
were over, and the gleam of the water deadened, 
I set up this other fine Davy Llewellyn on board 
the ketch, now here now there, sometimes lean- 
ing over the bulwarks in contemplation of the 
river (which was my favorite attitude, from my 
natural turn for reflection), sometimes idly at 
work with a rope, or any thing or nothing, only 
so as to be seen from shore, and expose to the 
public his whereabout. Meanwhile I crouched 
in a ditch hard by, and with both barrels loaded. 

You Avill say this was an unchristian thing, es- 
pecially as I suspected strongly that my besiegers 
wore naked backs, and would therefore receive 
my discharge in full. I will not argue that point. 


but tell you (in common fairness to myself, and 
to prevent any slur of the warm affection long 
subsisting between all who have cared to listen to 
me and my free self) that whenever I hoped for 
a chance at those fellows, I drew the duck-shot 
from the first barrel, and put a light charge of 
snipe-shot in, which no man could object to. 
The second barrel was ready, in case that the 
worst should come to the worst, as we say. 

Now it is a proof of my bad luck, and perhaps 
of my having done a thing below the high Welsh 
nature, that Providence never vouchsafed me a 
single shot at any one of them. The more trou- 
ble I took, the less they came ; until I could 
scarcely crook my fingers through the rheumat- 
ics they brought on me. Night after night, I 
said to myself, “If it only pleases the Lord to 
save me from the wiles of this anointed one, I 
vow to go back to my duty, and teach those oth- 
er young chits of boys their work.” For I had 
observed (though I would not tell it, except in a 
rheumatic twinge) that even Captain Bampfylde’s 
men had lost the style of drawing oars through 
the water properly, and as I used to give the 
tune five-and-twenty years agone. 

It is needless to say that, after all the close 
actions I have conquered in, a canister of gun- 
powder was nothing to disturb me. But as 
they might do worse next time, whether in joke 
or earnest, I made me a hutch of stout, sti ong 
oak, also cut the bulk-head out, and freed my- 
self into the hold at once, upon any unjust dis- 
turbance. Nigh me was my double gun, heavi- 
ly shotted at bed-time, and the spar which had 
knocked down Parson Chowne, and might have 
to do it again, perhaps. And now I began to 
persuade myself into happy sleep again ; for my 
nature is not vindictive. 

One night I lay broad awake, perhaps from 
having shot a curlew, and eaten him without an 
onion sewn inside while roasting, but he had been 
so hard to shoot that I was full of zeal to dine 
upon him, and had no onion handy. Whether 
it were so or not, I lay awake and thought about 
the strange things now come over me. To be 
earning money at a very noble rate indeed ; to 
be winning the attentions of, it may be, ten young 
women (each of whom believed that never had I 
been in love before) ; and to be establishing a 
business which could scarcely fail of growing to 
a public-house with benches and glass windows 
looking down upon the river ; and yet with all 
this prospect brewing, scarcely to have a mo- 
ment’s peace ! What a lucky thing for Parson 
Chowne that I have no cold black blood in me! 
In this medley of vague thoughts (such as all 
men of large brain have, and even myself when 
the moon ordains it) a strong and good idea 
struck me, and one to be dwelled upon to-mor- 
row ; and if then approved, to be carried out im- 
mediately. This was no less than to beg an au- 
dience of Sir Philip Bampfylde himself, and tell 
him all that I ever had seen of Chowne and his 
devices, and place Sir Philip on his guard, and 
leaiTi, maybe, a little of the many things that 
puzzled me. Of course I had thought of this be- 
fore ; but for several reasons had forborne to car- 
ry it any further. In the first place, it seemed 
such a coarse, rude way of meeting plans that 
should be met with equal stealth and subtlety, 
unless a man were prepared to own himself van- 
quished in intelligence. Again, it would have 


98 


THE IMAID OF SKER. 


been very difficult to obtain a private interview 
without some stir concerning it. Moreover, I 
felt a delicacy with respect to my stewardship 
on behalf of those two children ; for a stranger 
might not at a glance perceive that prudence and 
self-denial on my part, which the worrisome friv- 
olousness of the fish had, for the time, frustrated. 
However, I now perceived that a gentleman of 
Sir Philip’s lofty bearing could not with any 
grace or dignity allude to his own beneficence; 
and as for the second difficulty, I might hope 
for Miss Carey’s good offices, while I could no 
longer think to encounter Chowne with his own 
weapons, since he had blown me out of bed. 

Accordingly, I persuaded my beautiful young 
lady, who had plenty of sense but not much craft, 
and was pleased with my straightforwardness, 
to lead me into Sir Philip’s presence in a lonely 
part of the grounds near the river, to the west- 
w’ard, and out of sight of the house ; in a word, 
not far from the Braunton Burrows. 

Here the river made a bend and came to the 
breast of an ancient orchard, rich with grass and 
thick with trees, leafless now, but thickly bearded 
upon every twig with moss. This was of every 
form and fashion, and of almost every hue. I 
had never seen such a freaksome piece of work 
outside the tropics, although in Devonshire com- 
mon enough, where the soil is moist and the cli- 
mate damp. Some of these trees lay down on 
the ground, as if they were tired of standing, and 
some were in sitting postures, and some half lean- 
ing over ; but all alive, in spite of that, and fruit- 
ful when it suited them. And every thing being 
neglected now, from want of the Squire’s atten- 
tion, heaps of rosy and golden apples lay where 
they had been piled to sweat, but never led to 
the cider-press. 

Perceiving no sign of Sir Philip about, and re- 
membering how it w'as now beginning to draw^ 
on for Christmas-time, I felt myself welcome to 
one or two of these neglected apples; for it was 
much if nobody of the farmers’ wives who cross- 
ed the ferry could afford me a goose for Christ- 
mas in my solitary hole. And even if all should 
fail disgi'acefully of their duty towards me, I had 
my eye on a nice young bird of more than the 
average plumpness, who neglected his parents’ 
advice every day, and came for some favorite 
grass of his, which only grew just on the river’s 
verge, within thirty yards of my fusil. It would 
have shown low curiosity to ask if he owned an 
owner. From his independent manner, I felt 
that he must be public property ; and I meant 
to reduce him into possession right early in the 
morning of the Saint that was so incredulous. It 
is every man’s duty to treat himself well at the 
time of the Holy Nativity ; and having a knowl- 
edge of Devonshire geese, after two months on 
the stubbles, I could not do better than store in 
my boat one or two of these derelict apples. 

Never do I see or taste an apple without think- 
ing of poor Bardie. “Appledies,” she always 
called them, and she was so fond of them, and 
her little white teeth made marks like a small- 
tooth comb in the flesh of them. I was thinking 
of her, and had scarcely embarked more than a 
bushel or so, for sauce, in a little snug locker of 
my own, when I had the pleasure of seeing the 
gentleman whom I had come all that way to see. 

At my own desire, and through Miss Carey’s 
faith in me, it had not been laid before Sir Phil- 


ip that I w’as likely to meet him here ; only she 
had told me wffien and where to come across him, 
so as not to be broken in upon. Now he came 
down the narrow winding walk, at the lower side 
of the orchard, a path overhanging a little brook 
which murmured under last summer’s growth ; 
and I gazed at him silently for a while, through- 
the bushes that overhung my boat. He was 
dressed as when I had seen him last through my 
telescope, at the time w’e came up the river ; that 
is to say, in black velvet, and with his long sword 
hanging beside him. A brave, and stately, and 
noble man, walking through a steady gloom of 
grief, and yet content to walk alone, and never 
speak of it. 

I leaped through the bush at the river’s brink, 
and suddenly stood before him. He set his calm 
cold gaze upon me, -without a shadow of suiprise, 
as if to say, “You have no business in my pri- 
vate gi’ounds ; however, it is not worth speaking 
of.” I made him a low bow with my hat off; 
and he moved his own, and was passing on. 

“Will your worship look at me,” I said, “and 
see whether you remember me?” He seemed 
just a little surprised, and then -with his inborn 
courtesy complied. 

“ I have seen you before, but I know not -where. 
Sir, I often need pardon now for the W'eakness of 
my memor3^” 

In a few short words I brought to his mind that 
evening visit to my cottage, with Anthony Stew 
and the yellow carriage. 

“To be sure, to be sure! I remember now,” 
he said, with his grave and placid smile : “David 
Llewellyn ! Both good old names, and the lat- 
ter, I dare say, in your belief, both the older and 
the better one. I remember your hospitality, 
your patience, and your love of children. Is 
there any thing I can do for you ?” 

“ No, your w^orship, nothing. I am here for 
your sake only ; although, if I wanted, I w'ould 
ask you, having found you so good and kind.” 

“Whence did you get that expression, my 
friend? The common usage is ‘kind and good.’ 
I once knew a very little child — but I suppose it 
is the Welsh idiom.” 

“Your worship, I can speak English thorough- 
ly ; better even than my own language ; and all 
around us the scholarly people have more English 
than of Welsh. But to let your worship know 
my cause to come so much upon you, is of things 
more to the purpose. I have found a bad man 
meaning mischief to your w^orship.” 

“It can not be so,” he replied, withdrawing, 
as if I were taking a liberty ; “no doubt but you 
mean me well, Llewellyn, and yourself believe it. 
But neither I, nor any one else of all my family, 
now so small, can have given reason for any ill- 
will towards us.” 

It was not for me to dare to speak while the 
general was reflecting thus, as if in his own mind 
going through every small accident of his life ; 
even the sen^ants he might have discharged ; or 
the land-forces ordered for punishment, whereof 
to my mind they lack more than they get, and 
grow their backs up in a manner beyond all per- 
ception of discipline. 

For my part, I could not help thinking, as I 
watched him carefully, how low and black must be 
the nature of the heart that could rejoice in such 
a man’s unhappiness — a man who at three-score 
years and five was compelled to rack his memo- 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


99 


ry (even after being long in uncontrolled authoii- 
ty) to find a time when he might have given cause 
for private enmity ! If I had only enjoyed such 
chances, I must have had at least a score of strong 
enemies by this time. Being a little surprised, I 
looked again and again at his white eyebrows, 
while his eyes were on the ground ; also at his lips 
and nostrils, which were highly dignified. And 
I saw, in my dry low way, one reason why he had 
never given offense. He was perhaps a little scant 
of humor and of quickness ; which two things give 
more offense to the outer world, that has them 
not, than the longest course of rigid business car- 
ried on without them. I have seen a man who 
could not crack nuts fly into a fury with one who 
could. And these reflections made me even yet 
more anxious to serve him, so grave, and calm, 
and simple-minded, and so patient was his face. 

Nevertheless I did not desire, and would at the 
point of his sword have refused, a half-penny, for 
the things of import which I now disclosed to 
him. He led me to an ancient bench, beneath a 
well-w'orn apple-tree ; and sat thereon, and even 
sighed for me to sit beside him. My knowledge 
of his rank w’ould nt)t permit me to do this, un- 
til I was compelled to argue. A gentleman more 
shaped and set inside his own opinions it had 
never been my luck to have to deal with, now 
and then. There are men you can not laugh at, 
though you get the best of them, unless your con- 
science works with such integrity as theirs does. 
And the sense of this, in some way unknown, 
may have now been over me. How I began it, or 
even showed my sense of manners, and of all the 
different rank betw'een us, is beyond my knowl- 
edge now ; and must have flowed from instinct 
then. Enough that I did lead Sir Philip to have 
thoughts, and to hearken me. 

With a power not expected by myself at first 
beginning, while in doubt of throat and words, I 
contrived to set before him much that had be- 
fallen me. Though I never said a word that lay 
outside my knowledge, neither let a spark of heat 
find entrance to my mind at all, and would rath- 
er speak top little than be thought outrageous, 
there could be no doubt that my simple way of 
putting all I had to say moved this lofty man, as 
if he were one of the children at the well belong- 
ing to John the Baptist. I thought of all those 
pretty dears (as I beheld him listening), and the 
way they sat around me, and their style of mov- 
ing toes at any gi'eat catastrophe; whiles they 
kept their hands and noses under very stiff con- 
trol ; also the universal sigh, when my story kill- 
ed any one by any means unfit to die ; and their 
pure contempt of the things they suck, the whole 
while they are swallowing. Sir Philip (to whom 
my thoughts meant no failure of respect, but 
feeling of simplicity), this old gentleman let me 
speak as one well accustomed to lengthiness. 
But I did my best to keep a small helm, and 
yards on the creak for bracing. 

“ If I take you aright,” he said, as I drew near 
the end of my story, “ you have not a high opin- 
ion of that reverend gentleman, Stoyle Chowne.” 

“I look upon him, your worship, as the 
blackest-hearted son of Belial ever sent into this 
world. ” 

Sir Philip frowned, as behooved a man accus- 
tomed to authority, and only to have little words, 
half spoken out, before him. But at my time of 
life, no officer under an admiral on full pay could 


have any right to damp my power of expression. 
However, my respect was such for the presence 
of this noble man, that I rose and made a leg to 
him. 

“I am Sony to say,” he answered, bowing to 
my bow, as all gentlemen must do, “that this is 
not the first time I have heard unpleasant things 
about poor Stoyle. He is my godson, and has 
been almost as one of my own children. I never 
can believe that he w'ould ever do me injury. If 
I thought it, I should have to think amiss of al- 
most every one.” 

He turned away, as if already he had said more 
than he meant ; and feeling how he treated me, 
as if of his own rank almost, I did not wonder at 
the tales of men who gave their lives to save him, 
in the bloody battle-time. Knowing the woiid as 
I do, I only sighed, and waited for him. 

“ You are very good,” he said, without a tone 
of patronage, “to have thought to help me by 
delivering your opinions. A heavy trouble has 
fallen upon us, and the goodrwill of the neighbor- 
hood has many times astonished me. However, 
you miust indulge no more in any such wild ideas. 
They all proceed from the evil one, and are his 
choicest device to lower the value of holy orders. 
The Reverend Stoyle Chowne descends from a 
very good old family, at any rate on his father’s 
side; and he has his dignity to maintain, and 
his holy office to support him. On this head I 
will hear no more.” 

The general shut his mouth and closed it, so 
that I could never dare to open mine again to 
him concerning this one subject. And his man- 
ner stopped me so that I only made my duty. 
This he acknowledged in a manner which be- 
came both him and me ; and then he passed 
through a little gate to his usual w'alk upon 
Braunton Buitows. 

• » 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

NOTICE TO QUIT. 

We vvere now come to the time of year which 
all good Christians celebrate by good-will and fes- 
tivities. Even I, in my humble way, had made 
some preparation for this holy period, by shoot- 
ing Farmer Badcock’s goose ; which had long 
been in my mind. Upon plucking, he turned 
out even whiter and better than expectation, and 
the tender down clung to him in a way that 
showed his texture. I hung him up in a fine 
through-draught, and rejoiced in the thought of 
him every time my head came in between his 
legs. Neither did he fall away when he came to 
roasting. 

But when I had put him down, upon the 
Christmas morning, with intent to stick thereby, 
and baste him up to one o’clock, dipping bits of 
bread beneath him as he might begin to drip, 
and winning thus foretaste of him — all my plans 
were overset by a merry party coming, and de- 
manding ‘ ‘ ferry. ” With ray lovely goose begin- 
ning just to spread his skin a little, and hiss 
sweetly at the fire, up I ran, with resolution not 
to feny any body, but to cook my goose aright. 

Nevertheless it might not be so. Here were 
three young fellows ramping of the high nobility, 
swearing to come aboard and stick me If I would 
not ferry them. It was not that I feared of this, 


100 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


but that I beheld a guinea spinning in the morn- 
ing sun, which compelled me to forego, and leave 
my poor young goose to roll around, and try to 
roast himself. Therefore I backed him from the 
tire, and laid half a pound of slow lard on his 
breast, and trusted his honor to keep alive. 

These young joyous fellows now were awake 
to every thing. They had begun- the morning 
bravely with a cup of rum and lemon, then a ten- 
der grill of beef, and a quart of creamy ale, every 
one accordingly. And they meant to keep the 
day up to no less a pattern, being all of fine old 
birth, and bound to act accordingly. However, 
it had been said by some one that they ought to 
go to church ; and they happened to feel the 
strength of this, and vowed that the devil should 
catch the hindmost, unless they struck out for it. 

Hence I came to win the pleasure of their 
company that day. Their nearest church was 
the little, simple, quiet old church at Ashford. 
From my ferry I could see it ; and it often made 
me sigh, because it looked so tranquil. Sweet 
green land sloped up towards it, with a trace of 
crooked foot-paths, and the nicks of elbowed 
hedges, whei’e the cows came down and stood. 
Also from it, looking do^vnward through the val- 
ley of the Tawe, may be seen a spread of beau- 
ty, and of soft variety, and of lai’geness opening 
larger with the many winding waters, to the 
ocean unbeheld, that the sternest man must sigh, 
and look again, and look again. 

A genuine parson now was master of this queer 
old quiet church ; a man who gave his life entire 
for the good of other men. In a little hut he 
lived, which the clerk’s house oveiTode, just at 
the turning of the lane, upon the steep ascent, 
and where the thunder-showers flooded it. All 
the poor folk soon began to dwell upon his noble 
nature, and to feel that here was some one fit to 
talk of Saviours. Miles around they came to 
hear him, so that he was forced to stand on a 
stool in the porch and speak to them. For 
speaking it was, and not preaching ; which made 
all the difference. / 

These three gay young sparks leaped lightly 
into the bow of my ferry-boat, and bade me pull 
for my very life, unless I desired' to be flung into 
the water then and there. A strong spring-tide 
w'as running up, and I was forced to pull the star- 
board oar with all my might to keep the course. 
]My passengers were carrying on with every sort 
of quip and crank and jokes, thSt made the boat 
to tilt, when suddenly a rush of water flooded 
their silk stockings. I thought at first that the 
bung "was out, and told them not to be frighten- 
ed ; but in another breath I saw that it was a 
great deal worse than that. The water was nxsh- 
ing in through a mighty hole in the planks of the 
larboard bow ; and in three minutes we must be 
swamped. “All aft, all aft in a moment!” I 
cried ; “ it is our only chance of reaching shore. ” 
The gallants were sobered at once by fright, and 
I bundled them into the stern-sheets, sat on the 
aftmost thwart myself, and for the lives of us all 
pulled back towards the bank we had lately quit- 
ted. By casting all the weight thus astern, I 
raised the leak up to the water-line, except when 
we plunged to the lift of the oars, and the water 
poured in less rapidly now, with the set of the 
tide on our starboard beam. However, with all 
this, and all my speed, and my passengers show- 
ing great presence of mind, we barely managed 


to touch the bank and jump out, wdien dowm she 
foundered. 

At first I was at a loss altogether even to guess 
how this thing had happened ; for the boat seem- 
ed perfectly sound and dry at the time of our 
leaving the shore. But as soon as the tide was 
out, and I could get at her, I perceived that a 
trick of entirely fiendish cunning and atrocity had 
been played upon me. A piece of planking a 
foot in length and from eight to ten inches wdde 
had been cut out with a key-hole saw, at the time 
she was lying high and dry, and doubtless before 
day-break. This had been then replaced most 
carefully with a little caulking, so that it was wa- 
ter-tight without strong pressure from outside ; 
but the villain had contrived it, knowing in what 
state of tide I was likely next to work the ferry, 
so that the rash of water could not fail to beat 
the piece in. 

It made my blood run cold to think of the 
stealthiness of this attempt, as well as the skill it 
w’as compassed with, for the chances were ten to 
one almost in favor of its drowning me, and leav- 
ing a bad name behind me too, for having drown- 
ed my passengers. And to this it must have 
come if so much as a single woman had been in 
the boat that day. For these, when in danger, 
always do the very worst thing possible ; and the 
manager of this clever scheme knew of course 
that my freight was likely, on the Cln-istmas 
morning, to be chiefly female. Luckily I had 
refused two boat-loads of young and attractive 
womankind, not from religious feeling only, but 
because I had to chop a trencherful of stuffing. 

This affair impressed me so with a sense of 
awe and reverence, and a certainty that Parson 
Chowne must be in direct receipt of counsel from 
the evil one, that my mind was good to be off at 
once, and thank the Lord for escaping him. For 
let us see what must have happened but for the 
goodness and fatherly care of a merciful Provi- 
dence over me. The boat would have sunk in 
the very midst of the rapid and icy river. Da- 
vid Llewellyn, with his accustomed fortitude, 
would have endeavored to swim ashore, and yet 
could not have resisted the claims of three or 
even four young women, who doubtless would 
have laid hold of him, all screaming, splashing, 
a*id dragging him down. The mind refuses to 
contemplate such a picture any longer ! 

This matter could not be kept quiet, as the 
first attempt had been, but spread from house to 
house,* and gained in size from each successive 
tongue, until the man at the foot of the bridge, 
who naturally detested me, whispered into every 
ear that it w'as high time to have a care of that 
interloping Welshman, who had drowned six fine 
young noblemen, for the sake of their buckles and 
watches. And my courage was at so low an ebb 
that, when he retreated into his house, I could 
not even bring my mind to the power of kick- 
ing his door in. Hence that calumny, not being 
quenched, went the round of the neighborhood ; 
and I might as well haul down my sign, and tlie 
hopes of any public-house became a fading vision. 
And of all the fine young -women who had set 
their hearts upon keeping it (as I described my 
intention to them), and who had picked up bits 
of Welsh, for an access to my heart in all its })a- 
triotism, there was not one worth looking at, or 
fit to be a landlady, who took the trouble to come 
near me in the frosty weather. 


THE MAID OF SKEll. 


101 


'WTien a man is forsaken by the world, he must 
have recourse to reason. And if only borne up 
thereby, and with a little cash in hand, he can 
wait till the world comes round again. This 
was my position now. I never had behaved so 
well in all my life before, I think ; though always 
conscientious. But of late I had felt, as it were, 
in one perjjetual round of bitter wrestling with 
the evil one. JNIen of a loose kind may not see 
that this was tenfold hard upon me, from my 
props being knocked away. I mean my entire 
trust and leaning upon the ancient Church of 
England, which (perhaps by repulsion from those 
fellows that came after our old ham, as well as 
our proper parson’s knowledge of soles and the 
way to fry them) had increased upon me so, that 
my heart leaped up whenever I heard the swing of 
a bell on Sunday. Some of this, perhaps, was ow- 
ing to my thoughts of Newton clock, and twelve 
shillings now due to me from my captainship 
thereof: but how could this loyal and ecclesias- 
tical fervor thriv'e while a man in holy orders did 
such unholy things to me ? 

The only one with faith enough, and sense 
enough, to stand by me now, through this bitter 
trial, was that beautiful young lady whom I did 
admire so. And if till now I admired only, now 
I did adore her. Nanette did for herself with 
me, and all her hopes of ever being Mrs. David 
Llewellyn, by poking up her little toes — and I 
saw that they were all square almost — and with 
guttural noises crying that on board my boat she 
would not dare. Miss Carey laughed at her, and 
stepped, with her beautiful boots, on board of me : 
and from that moment she might do exactly as 
she pleased with me. 

However, my ferry was knocked on the head; 
and all the hopes of a wife and family, and even 
a public-house and skittles, which I had long 
been building up, as well as to train our Bunny 
for bar-maid ; which must always be done quite 
young, to get the proper style of it, and thorough 
acquaintance with measures, how to make them 
look quite brim up when they are only three 
parts full. All golden dreams will vanish thus ; 
no life of smiling Boniface but of gun-muzzles 
was before me ; no casting-up of shot by pence, 
but ramming down on pounds of powder. Let 
that pass ; my only wish is to conceal, in the 
strictest manner, little trifles about myself. 

Isabel Carey was so shocked at hearing of our 
danger (as by me distinctly told without a word 
of flourish), that she made me promise strongly 
to give up my ferrjung. This I was becoming 
ready, more and more every day, to do; espe- 
cially as nobody ever now came down for porter- 
age. But I told the lady how hard it was to 
have formed such a valuable trade, or you might 
say an institution, and then to lose it all be- 
cause of certain private enmities. What she 
said or did hereon is strictly a family question, 
and can in no way concern the public, since I 
hauled my flag down. 

And now I gained more insight into my great 
enemy’s schemes and doings than I could have 
acquired while engaged so much at ferry. For 
time allowed me to maintain that strict watch 
upon Namton Court which was now become my 
duty, as well as an especial pleasure, for the fol- 
lowing reason : I began to see most clearly that 
the foul outrage upon my boat must have been 
peiqjctrated by one or both of those savage fel- 


lows who were employed as spies upon this great 
house, from the landward side. They must have 
forded the river, which is not more than three 
feet deep in places when the tide is out, and no 
floods coming down. These two cunning bar- 
barians came, of course, from the Nympton rook- 
ery, but were lodging for the present in a hole 
they had scooped for themselves in the loneliest 
part of Braunton Burrows. Of course they durst 
not go about in a peopled and civilized neighbor- 
hood, with such an absence of apparel as they 
could indulge at home. Still they were unsight- 
ly objects, and decent people gave them a wide 
berth, when possible. But my firm intention 
was to grapple with these savage scoundrels, and 
to prove at their expense what a civilized Welsh- 
man is, and how capable of asserting his com- 
mercial privileges. Only, as they carried knives, 
I durst not meet them both at once ; and even 
should I catch them singly, some care was ad- 
visable, so as to take them oif their guard ; be- 
cause I would not lower myself to the use of any 
thing more barbarous than an honest cudgel. 

However, although I watched and waited, and 
caught sight of them more than once, especially 
at night-time when they roved most freely, it was 
long before I found it prudent to bear down on 
the enemy. Not from any fear of them, but for 
fear of slaying them, as I might be forced to do, 
if they rushed with steel at me. 

One night, after the turn of the days, and with 
mild weather now prevailing, and a sense of 
spring already fluttering in the valleys, I sat in 
a dark embrasure at the end of Narnton Court. 
There had been more light than usual in the win- 
dows of the great dining-room, which now was 
very seldom used for hospitable purposes. And 
now two gentlemen came forth, as if for a little 
air, to take a turn on the river-terrace. It did 
not cost me long to learn that one Avas good Sir 
Philip Bampfylde, and the other that very wick- 
ed Chowne. The latter had manifestly been tell- 
ing some of his choicest stories, and held the up- 
per hand as usual. 

“ General, take my arm. The flags are rough, 
and the night is of the darkest. You must gravel 
this terrace, for the sake of your guests, after your 
port-wine.” 

“Dick,” said the general, with a sigh, for he 
was a most hospitable man, and accustomed to 
the army ; “ Dick, thou hast hardly touched ray 
port ; and I like not to have it slighted, sir.” 

What excuse the pai'son made I did not hear, 
but knew already that one of his countless villain- 
ies was his rude contempt of the gift of God, as 
vouchsafed to Noah, and confirmed by the A'ery 
first rainbow, which continues the colors thereof 
up to this time of writing. 

Sir Philip leaned on the parapet some twenty 
yards to windward of me, and he sniffed the fine 
fresh smell of sea-weed and sea-water coming up 
the river with a movement of four knots an hour. 
And in his heart he thanked the Lord, very like- 
ly, without knowing it. Then he seemed to sigh 
a little, and to turn to Chowne, and say — 

“ Dick, this is not as it should be. Look at 
all this place, and up and down all this length 
of river; every light you can see burning is in 
a house tliat ’longs to me. And who is noAv to 
have it all ? It used to make me proud ; but now 
it makes me A’ery humble. You are a parson ; 
tell me, Dick, what have I done to deserve it all ?” 


102 


THE MAID OF SEER. 


The Rev. Richard Stoyle Chowne had not — 
whatever his other vices were — one grain of 
pious hypocrisy in all his foul composition. If 
he had, he might have flourished, and with his 
native power, must have been one of the fore- 
most men of this or any other age. But his 
pride allowed him never to let in pretense relig- 
ious into the texture of his ways. A worse man 
need not be desired; and yet he did abhor all 
cant, to such a degree that he made a mock of 
his own church-services. 

“General, I have nought to say. You have 
asked this question more than once. You know 
what my opinion is.” 

“I know that you have the confidence, sir, 
every honorable man must have, in my poor 
son’s innocence. You support it against every 
one.” 

“Against all the world; against even you, 
when you allow yourself to doubt it. Tush ! I 
would not twice think of it. However many 
candles bum” — this was a touch of his nasty 
sarcasm, which he never could deny himself — 
“up and down the valley, general, no son of 
yours, however wild, and troubled in expendi- 
ture, could ever shape or even dream of any 
thing dishonorable.” 

“I hope not — I hope to God, not,” Sir Philip 
said, with a little gasp, as if he were fearing oth- 
erwise; “Dick, you are my godson, and you 
have been the greatest comfort to me ; because 
you never would believe — ” 

“Not another word, general. You must not 
dwell on this matter so. The children were fine 
little dears of course, veiy clever and very pre- 
cious — ” 

“Oh, if you only knew the words, Dick, my lit- 
tle granddaughter could come out with ! Scarce- 
ly any thing you could think of would have been 
too big for her little mouth. And if she could 
not do it once, she never left it till she did. 
Where it came from I could not tell, for we are 
not great at languages : but it must have been 
of her mother’s race. And the boy, though not 
with gifts of that sort — oh, you ought to have 
seen his legs, Dick — at least till he took the 
whooping-cough!” The stately old gentleman 
leaned, and dropped a tear, perhaps, into the River 
Tawe. 

“General, I understand it all,” said Chowne, 
though he never had a child, by reason of the 
Almighty’s mercy to the next generation: “of 
course these pretty children were a great delight 
to every one. But affairs of this sort happen in 
all ancient families. The mere extent of land 
appears to open for clandestine graves — ” 

“That wicked, devilish story, Dick ! Did you 
tell me, or did you not, to take it as the Fiend’s 
own lie ?” 

“A lie, of course, as concerns the captain; 
from their want of knowledge. But concerning 
some one else, true enough, I fear, I fear. ” 

Both men had by this time very nearly said 
their say throughout. Tlie general seemed to 
be overcome, and the parson to be growing wea- 
ry of a subject often treated in discourse between 
them. “Before you go in the morning, Dick,” 
said the old man, now recovering, “I wish to 
consult you about a matter nearly concerning 
young Isabel. She is a distant cousin of yours. 
You thoroughly understand the law, of which I 
have very little knowdedge. Perhaps you will 


meet me in the book-room, for half an hour’s 
quiet talk, before we go to breakfast.” 

“I can not do it. Sir Philip. I have my own 
affairs to see to : I must be otf when the moon is 
up. I can not sleep in your house this night.” 


CHAPTER XL. 

FORCIBLE EJECTMENT. 

Those things which have been settled for us 
by long generations of ancestors, all of whom 
must have considered the subjects, one after the 
other, painfully, and brought good minds of an- 
cient strength (less led away than ours are) to 
bear upon what lay before them, also living in a 
time when money went much farther, and got a 
deal more change in honesty, which was then 
more plentiful — to rush, I say, against the bul- 
warks of our noble elders (who showed the 
warmth of their faith by roasting all who disa- 
greed with them), would be, aye and ever will 
be, a proof of a rebellious, scurvy, and perpetually 
scabby nature. The above fine reflection came 
home to me, just as my pipe grew sweet and 
rich, after an excellent dinner, provided by that 
most thoughtful and bright young lady, the Hon- 
orable Isabel Carey, upon a noble New-year’s- 
day, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven 
hundred and eighty-three. Her ladyship now 
had begun to feel that interest in my intelligence 
and unusual power of narrative, as well as that 
confidence in my honor and extreme veracity, 
which, without the smallest effort or pretense on 
my part, seem to spring by some law of nature in 
every candid mind I meet. 

Combining this lady’s testimonials, as present- 
ed weekly, with some honorable trifles picked up 
here and there along shore, in spite of all dis- 
couragement, perhaps I congratulated myself on 
having turned the corner of another year not 
badly. I counted my money, to the tune of five- 
and-twei^ty level pounds ; an amount of cash be- 
yond all experience ! Yet, instead of being daz- 
zled, I began to see no reason for not having fif- 
ty. Not that I ever thought of money, but for 
the sake of the children. The tears came into 
my eyes to think of these poor little creatures ; 
Bardie with all her fount of life sanded up (as 
one might say) in that old Sker warren ; and 
Bunny with her strength of feeding weakened 
over rice and fowl food ; such as old Charles 
Morgan kept, who had been known to threaten 
to feed his family upon sawdust. A most re- 
spectable man, as well as church-warden and un- 
dertaker; but being bred a pure caiyienter, he 
thought (when his money came in fast, and great 
success surprised him) that Providence would be 
offended at his waste of sawdust. 

Now this was the man who had Bunny to keep, 
entirely from his own wish of course, or the sense 
of the village concerning her ; and many times I 
had been ready to laugh, and as many times to 
ciy almost, whenever I thought of the many 
things that were likely to happen between them. 
To laugh, when I thought of church- warden’s face 
regarding our Bunny at breakfast-time, and the 
way she would say, “I want some more,” through 
his narrow-shouldered children. To cry, when I 
thought of my dear son’s child (and as dear to 
me as my own almost) getting less of victuals dai- 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


103 


ly, as her welcome should grow staler, and giving 
way to her old trick of standing on the floor with 
eyes shut, and with shut mouth to declare, “I 
won’t eat, now you have staiwed me so and no 
one in that house ■with wit to understand and hu- 
mor her. And then I could see her go to bed in 
a violent temper anyhow : and when the wind 
boxed round to north, I could hear her calling, 
“ Granny.” 

This very tender state of mind, and sense of 
domestic memories, seems to have drawn me (so 
far as I can, in a difficult case, remember it) to- 
wards a very ancient inn having two bow-win- 
dows. Wlien I entered, no man could be in 
stricter state of sobriety ; and as if it w’ere yester- 
day, I remember asking the price of every thing. 
The people w^ere even inclined to refuse to draw 
any thing in the small-liquor line for a man with 
so little respect for trade as to walk so straight 
upon New -year’s -day. After a little while, I 
made them see that this was not so much my 
fault as my misfortune ; and when I declared my 
name, of course, and my character came forward, 
even rum-shrub out of a cask with golden hoops 
around it scarcely seemed to be considered good 
enough for me, gratis. But throughout the whole 
of this, I felt an anxious and burning sense of 
eager responsibility, coupled with a strong desire 
to be eveiywhere at once. 

Right early, to the very utmost of my recol- 
lection, I tumbled into my lonely berth, after see- 
ing my fusil primed, and praying to the Lord for 
guidance through another and a better year. I 
had clean sheets, which are my most luxurious 
gift of feeling; and having no room to stretch 
my legs, or roll, I managed space to yawn, and 
then went off deliciously. Now 1 was beginning 
to dream about the hole I had placed my money 
in — a clever contrivance of my own, and not in 
the cuddy at all, because the enemy might attack 
me there — when a terrible fit of coughing came 
and saved my life *by waking me. The little cud- 
dy was full of smoke — parching, blinding, chok- 
ing smoke — so thick that I could scarcely see the 
red glare of fire behind it through the brattice 
of the bulkhead. 

“Good Lord,” I cried, “have mercy on me! 
Sure enough, I am done for now. And nobody 
ever will know or care what the end was of old 
Dyo!” 

I did not stop still to say all this, that you may 
be quite sure of ; and it argues no small power 
of speech that I was able to say any thing. For 
with a last desire for life, and despairing resolve 
to tiy again, I broke my knuckles against the 
hatch which I had made so heavy for the pur- 
pose of protecting me. To go out through my 
door w’ould have been to rush into the fire itself ; 
and what with the choking, and the thickness, 
and the terror of the flames violently reddening 
and roaring a few feet away, I felt my wits be- 
ginning to fail me, which of course was certain 
death. So I sat down on a three-legged stool, 
which was all my furniture ; and for a moment 
the rushing smoke drew, by some draught, other- 
where ; and whether I would or no, a deal of my 
past life came up to me. I wondered whether I 
might have been too hard sometimes on any 
one, or whether I might have forgotten to think 
of the Lord upon any Sunday. And then my 
thoughts were elevated to the two dear children. 

Now what do you think happened to me when 


I thought of those two darlings, and the teare 
from smoke made way for the deep-born tears of 
a noble heart ? Why, simply that a flash of flame 
glanced upon the iron crowbar wherewith I had 
opened hatch. I could not have been in pure 
bright possession of my Maker’s gifts to me when 
I chanced, before going to bed, to lay that crow- 
bar for my pillow-case. Nevertheless I had done 
it well : and in the stern perception of this des- 
perate extremity, I could not help smiling at the 
way I had tucked up my head on the crowbar. 
But (though no time is lost in smiling) I had not 
a moment to lose even now, although with my 
utmost wits all awake and coughing. I priced 
the hatch up in half a moment, where it was 
stuck in the combings ; and if ever a man enjoyed 
a draught, I did so of air that moment. Many 
men might have been frightened still, and not 
have known w'hat to do \rith themselves. But I 
assure you, in all honor, that the whole of my 
mind came back quite calmly when I was out 
of smothering. People may say what they like ; 
but I know, after seeing eveiy form of death (and 
you need not laugh at me very much if I even 
said feeling it) — I know no anguish to he com- 
pared to the sense of being pressed under slowly ; 
and the soul with no room to get away. 

But I was under the good stars now, and able 
to think and to look about ; and though the ketch 
could not last long, being of ninety-two tons only, 
I found time enough to kneel and thank my God 
for His mercy to me. There was no ice in the 
river now, and to swim ashore w'ould have been 
but little, except for rheumatics afterwards. But 
it seemed just as well to escape even these ; and 
having been burned out at sea before, I was bet- 
ter enabled to manage it. The whole of the waist 
of the ketch was in flames, curling and beginning 
now to indulge their desire of roaring; but the 
kindness of the Lord prevented wind from blow- 
ing. Had there been only a four-knot breeze, 
you would never have heard of me again ; surely 
which would grieve you. 

In this very sad state of mind, combined with 
a longing for thankfulness, and while I was think- 
ing about the fire — to say the truth, very stupidly, 
and wondering instead of working — quite an old- 
fashioned affair restored me to my wits and my love 
of the w'orld again : this was the strong sour sound 
of the air, when a bullet comes through it hastily, 
dnd casting reproach upon what we breathe, for 
its w'ant of a stronger activity. A man had made 
a shot at me, and must have been a lubber by his 
want of range and common sense. Before I could 
think, I w'as all alive, and fit to enjoy myself al- 
most, as if it were a fight with Frenchmen. The 
first thing I thought of was the gun lent to me by 
Miss Carey. To rescue this, I went down even 
into the cuddy which had so lately proved my very 
grave almost ; and after this I saw no reason w'hy 
I should not save my money, if the Lord so will- 
ed it. From a sense of all the mischief even now 
around me, I had made a clever hole in the bow- 
knees of the ketch (where the wood lay thickest), 
and so had plugged my money up, w’ith the pow- 
er to count it daily. And now, in spite of flame, 
and roar, and heat of all the ’midships, and the 
spluttering of the rock-powder bags too wet to 
be unanimous, I made my mind up just to try to 
save my bit of money. 

Because, although a man may he as coarse, and 
wicked, and vile-hearted, as even my very worst 


104 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


enemies are, he can not fail of getting on, and 
being praised, and made the best of, if he only 
does his best to stick tight to his money. There- 
fore, having no boat within reach, and the ’mid- 
ship all aflame, I made a raft of the cuddy-hatch, 
and warped along by the side of the ketch, and 
purchased my cash from its little nest ; and then, 
with a thankful heart and nothing but a pair of 
breeches on, made the best of my way ashore, 
punting myself with a broken oar. 

This desire to sacrifice me (without the trouble 
even taken to count what my value was), gave 
me such a sense of shock, and of spreading abroad 
everywhere, without any knowledge left of what 
might have become of me, and the subject liable 
to be dropped, if ever entered into by a jolly 
crowner, and a jury glad to please him, that for 
the moment I sat down upon a shelf of clay, un- 
til the wet came through my want of clothes. 
Suddenly this roused me up to make another tri- 
al for the sake of my well-accustomed and famil- 
iar suit of clothes, so well beloved ; also even my 
Sunday style, more striking but less comfortable ; 
in lack of which the world could never have gone 
on in our neighborhood. Therefore I ran to my 
little punt and pushed off, and was just in time 
to save my kit, with a little singeing. 

The ketch burned down to the water’s edge, 
and then a rough tide came up and sank her, 
leaving me in a bitter plight, and for some time 
quite uncertain how to face the future. From 
knowledge of the parson’s style of treating simi- 
lar cases, I felt it to be a most likely thing that I 
should be charged with firing her, robbing her, 
and concealing booty. And this injustice added 
to the bitterness of my close escape. “It is no 
use,” I said aloud; “it is useless to contend 
with him. He has sold himself to Satan, and 
thank God I have no chance with him.” There- 
fore, by the time the fire had created some dis- 
turbance in the cottage bedrooms, I had got my 
clothing on, in a decent though hasty manner, 
and slipped into a little wood, with my spy-glass 
happily saved, and resolved to watch what hap- 
pened in among the bumpkins. 

These came down, and stared and gawked, 
and picked up bits of singed spars, and so on, and 
laid down the law to one another, and fought for 
the relics, and thought it hard that no man’s 
body was to be found with clothes on. I saw 
them hunting for me up and down the river 
channel, with a desperate ignorance of tide (al- 
though living so close to it), and I did not like 
to have my body hunted for like that. But I re- 
pressed all finer feelings, as a superior man must 
do, and chewed the tip of a bullock’s tongue, which 
luckily was in my waistcoat - pocket ready for 
great emergency; and which if a man keeps go- 
ing on with, he may go, like the great Elijah, forty 
days, and feel no hunger. At least I have heard 
so, and can believe it, having seen men who told 
me so ; but I would rather have it proved by an- 
other man’s experience. 

While I was looking on at these things, down 
came Parson Chowne himself, in a happy mood, 
and riding the black mare, now brought out of 
dock again. The country folk, all fell away from 
their hope of stealing something, and laid fingers 
to their hats, being afraid to talk of him. He, 
however, did no more than sign to the serving- 
man behind him, to acknowledge compliments 
(which w'as outside his own custom), and then 


he put spurs to his horse and galloped right and 
left through the lot of them. In my anxiety to 
learn what this dreadful man was up to, I slipped 
down through the stubs of the wood, where the 
fagot - cutters had been at work, gliding even 
upon my jersey, because of the parson’s piercing 
eyes, and there in the ditch I found some shelter, 
and spied through a bushy breastwork. 

“No more than I expected,” he cried, “from 
what I have seen of the fellow ; he has fired the 
ship, and run away with all he could lay hands 
on. As a justice of the peace, I offer ten 
pounds reward for David Llewellyn, brought be- 
fore me, alive or dead. Is there one of you ran- 
tipoles can row? Oh, you can. Take this shil- 
ling, and be off with that big thief’s ferry-boat, 
and leave it at Sam Tucker’s ship-yard, in the 
name of the Reverend Stoyle Chowne.” 

It went to my heart that none of the people to 
whom I had been so “good and kind” — to use 
pretty Bardie’s phrase — now had the courage to 
stand up and say that my character was most 
noble, and claim back my boat for me. Instead 
of that, they all behaved as if I had never ferried 
them ; and the ingratitude of the young women 
made me long to be in Wales again. Because, 
you may say what you like ; but the first point in 
our people is gratitude. 

“Of course,” cried Chowne, and his voice, 
though gently used, came down the wund like a 
bell; “of course, good people, you have not 
found the corpse of that wretched villain ?” 

“Us would giv’ un up glad enough, if us only 
gat the loock, for tan zhilling, your raverance. 
Lave aloun tan poond.” 

When that miserable miser said a thing so low 
as that, my very flesh crept on my bones, and my 
inmost heart was sick with being made so very 
little of. To myself I always had a proper sense 
of estimation ; and to be put at this low figure 
made me doubt of every thing. However, I came 
to feel, after a bit, that this is one of the trials 
which all good men must put up with : neither 
would a common man find his corpse worth ten 
pounds sterling. 

Between my sense of public value (a definite 
sum, at any rate) and imagination of what my 
truly natural abilities might lead me to, if prop- 
erly neglected, I found it a blessed hard thing to 
lie quiet until dark, and then slip out. And the 
more so, because my stock of food was all con- 
sumed by middle day ; and before the sun went 
down, hunger of a great shape and size arose and 
raged within me. This is always diflicult to dis- 
cipline or to reason with ; and to men of the 
common order it suggests great violence. To 
me it did nothing of that kind, but led me into a 
little shop, where I paid my money, and got my 
loaf. My flint and steel and tinder-box lay in 
my pocket handy. These I felt and felt again, 
and went into the woods and thought, and found 
that even want of food had failed to give me a 
thorough -going and consistent appetite. Be- 
cause, for the first time in my life, I had shaped 
a strong resolve, and sworn to the Lord concern- 
ing it — to commit a downright crime, and one 
which I might be hanged for. Although every 
one who has entered into my sufferings and my 
dignity must perceive how right I was, and would 
never inform against me, I will only say that on 
Saturday evening Parson Chowne had fourteen 
ricks, and on Sunday morning he had none, and 


THE IVIAID OF SEEK. 


105 


inigTit begin to understand the feelings of the 
many farmers who had been treated thus by him. 
Eight gladly would I have beheld his face (so 
rigid and contemptuous at other people’s trouble) 
when he should come to contemplate his own 
works thus brought home to him. But I could 
not find a hedge thick enough to screen me from 
his terrible, piercing eyes. 

This little bit of righteous action made a stir, 
you may be sure, because it was so contrary to the 
custom of the neighborhood. Although I went 
to see this fire, I took the finest care to leave no 
evidence behind me, and even turned my bits of 
toggery inside out at starting. But there was a 
general sense in among these people, that only a 
foreigner could have dared to fly in the parson’s 
fiice so. I waited long enough to catch the turn 
of the public feeling, and finding it set hard 
against me, my foremost thought was the love 
of home. 

Keeping this in view, and being pressed almost 
beyond bearing now, with no certainty, moreover, 
as to warrants coming out, and the people looking 
strangely, every time they met me, I could have 
no peace until I saw the beautiful young lady, 
and to her told every thing. You should have 
seen her eyes and cheeks, as well as the way her 
heart went ; and the pride with which she gath- 
ered all her meaning up to speak, even after I 
had told her how the ricks would burn themselves. 

“You dear old Davy,” she said, “I never 
thought you had so much courage. You are the 
very bravest man — but stop, did you burn the 
whole of them ?” 

“Every one burned itself, your ladyship; I 
saw the ashes dying down, and his summer-house 
as well took fire, through the mischief of the 
wind, and all his winter stock of wood, and his 
tool-house, and his — ” 

“ Any more, any more, old David ?” 

“Yes, your ladyship, his cow-house, after the 
cows were all set .free, and his new cart-shed fifty 
feet long, also his carpenter’s shop, and his cider- 
press.” 

“ You are the very best man,” she answered, 
■with her beautiful eyes full upon me, “ that I 
have seen since I was a child. I must think 
what to do for you. Did you burn any thing 
more, old Davy ?” 

“ The fire did, your ladyship, three large bams, 
and a thing they call a ‘ linhay also the grana- 
ry, and the meal-house, and the apple-room, and 
the churn-room, and only missed the dairy by a 
little nasty slant of wind.” 

“ What a good thing you have done! There 
is scarcely any man I know that would have 
shown such courage. Mr. Llewellyn, is there 
any thing in my power to do for you ?” 

Nothing could have pleased me more than to 
find this fair young lady rejoicing in this generous 
manner at the parson’s misadventure. And her 
delight in the contemplation made me almost feel 
repentance at the delicate forbearance of the 
flames from the Rectory itself. But I could not 
help reflecting how intense and bitter must be 
this young, harmless creature’s wrong received 
and dwelling in her mind, ere she could find 
pleasure from wild havoc and destruction. 

“ There is one thing you can do,” I answered, 
very humbly ; “and it is my only chance to es- 
cape from misconstruction. I never thought, at 
my time of life, to begin life so again. But I am 


now a homeless man, burned out of my latest 
refuge, and with none to care for me. Perhaps 
I may be taken up to-morrow, or the next day. 
And with such a man against me, it must end in 
hanging.” 

“ I never heard such a thing,” she said : “he 
tries to burn you in your bed, after blowing you 
up, and doing his very best to drown you ; and 
then you are to be hanged because there is a bon- 
fire on his premises ! It is impossible, Mr. 
Llewellyn, to think twee of such a thing.” 

“Your ladyship may be right,” I answered ; 
“and, in the case of some one else, reasoning 
would convince me. But if I evdn stop to think 
twice, it will lead to handcuffs ; and handcuffs 
lead to halter.” 

At this she began to be frightened much, and 
her fright grew worse as I described the unpleas- 
antness of hanging — how I had helped myself to 
run up nine good men at the yard-arm. And a 
fine thing for their souls, no doubt, to stop them 
from more mischief, and let them go up while the 
Lord might think that other men had injured them. 

“Your ladyship,” I began again, when I saw 
all her delicate color ebbing; “it is not for a 
poor hunted man to dare to beg a favor.” 

“ Oh yes, it is, it is,” she cried ; “that is the 
very time to do it. Any thing in my power, 
David, after all you have done for me.” 

“ Then all that I want of your ladyship is to 
get me rated aboard of Captain Drake Bamp- 
fylde’s ship.” 

She colored up so clearly that I was compelled 
to look away ; and then she said — 

“How do you know — I mean who can have 
told you that — but are you not too — ^perhaps a 
little—” 

“ Too old, your ladyship ? Not a day. I am 
worth half a dozen of those young chips who have 
got no bones to their legs yet. And as for shoot- 
ing, if his honor wants a man to train a cannon, 
I can hit a marlirigspike with a round-shot at a 
mile and a half, as soon as I learn the windage.” 

For I knew by this time that Captain Bamp- 
fylde’s ship, the Alcestis, was in resen'e, as a feed- 
er for the royal navy, to catch young hands and 
train them to some knowledge of sea-life, and 
smartness, and the styles of gunnery. And who 
could teach them these things better than a vet- 
eran like me ? 

Miss Carey smiled at my conceit, as perhaps 
she considered it ; “ Well, Davy, if you can fire 
a gun as well as you can a hay-rick — ” 

“No more, your ladyship, I beseech you. 
Even walls like these have ears ; and every time 
I see my shadow, I take it for a constable. I 
am sure there are two men after me — ” 

“ Have you, then, two shadows ?” she asked, in 
her peculiar pleasant way : “at any rate, no one 
will dare to meddle with you, or any of us, I 
should hope, in the general’s own house. Come 
in here. I expect, or at least I think, there is 
some prospect of a boat from the Alcestis com- 
ing up the river this very evening. Perhaps you 
have some baggage.” 

“ No, your ladyship, not a bit. They burned 
me out of all of it. But I saved some money 
kindly, by special grace of God, at the loss of aU 
my leg-hair.” 

I ought not to have said that, I knew, directly 
after uttering it, to a young lady who could not 
yet be up to things of that kind. 


lOG 


THE IHAID OF SKER. 


CHAPTER XLI. 

THE RIGHT SIAN IN TUB RIGHT PLACE. 

The very next day, I was afloat as a seaman of 
the royal navy of the United Kingdom. None 
but a sailor can imagine what I felt and what I 
thought. Here for years I had been adrift from 
the very work God shaped me for, wrecked be- 
fore my time by undue violence of a Frenchman. 
Also, I had bred my son up to supply my place a 
little ; and a very noble fellow, though he could 
not handle cutlass or lay gun as I had done. 
But he might have come to it if he ever had come 
to my own time of life. This, however, had been 
cut short by the will of Providence ; and now I 
felt bound to make good for it. Only one thing 
gi'ieved me, viz., to find the war declining. This 
went to my heart the more, because our navy had 
not done according to its ancient fame, anywhere 
but at Gibraltar and with Admiral Rodney, in 
the year before I rejoined it. Off the coast of 
America, things I could not bear to hear ; also 
the loss of the Royal George, the capture of the 
Leeward Islands, and of Minorca by the French ; 
and even a British sloop of war taken by a French 
corvette. Such things moved me to the marrow, 
after all I had seen and done ; and all our ship’s 
company understood that I returned to the seiT- 
ice in the hope to put a stop to it. This re- 
claiming of me to the thing that I was me^nt for 
took less time than I might use to bring a gun to 
its bearings. That beautiful Miss Carey man- 
aged every thing with Captain Drake, and in less 
than fifty kisses they had settled my aifairs. I 
could have no more self-respect, if I said another 
word. 

But the king and the nation won the entire 
benefit of this. It came to pass that I ivas made 
a second instructor in gunnery, with an entire 
new kit found me, and six-and-two-pence a week 
appointed, together with second right to stick a 
fork into the boiler. Of course I could not have 
won all this by favor ; but showed merit. It had, 
however, been allowed me, under an agreement 
(just enough, yet brought about by special love 
of justice) that I should receive a month ashore 
at Newton-Nottage, in the course of the spring, 
whenever it might suit our cruising. My private 
affairs demanded this ; as well as love of neigh- 
bors, and strong desire to let them know how 
much they ought to make of me. 

How I disdained my rod and pole, and the 
long-shore life and the lubberly ways, when I felt 
once more the bounding of the open water, the 
spring of the buoyant timbers answering every 
movement gallantly, the generous vehemence of 
the canvas, and the noble freedom of the ocean 
winds around us! The rush up a liquid mount- 
ain, and the sway on the balance of the world ; 
then the plunge into the valley, almost out of 
the sight of God, though we feel Him hovering 
over us ; while the heart leaps with the hope of 
yet more glorious things to come — the wild de- 
light, the rage, suspense, and majesty of battle. 

Nothing vexed me now so much as to hear 
from private people, and even from the publie 
sailors, that the nation ivanted peace. No na- 
tion ever should want peace until it has thor- 
oughly thrashed the other, or is bound by wicked 
luck to knock under hopelessly. And neither of 
those things had befallen England at this period. 
But I have not skill enough to navigate in poli- 


tics. And before we had been long at sea, we 
spoke a full-rigged ship from Hamburg, which 
had touched at Falmouth ; and two German boys, 
in training for the British navy, let us know that 
peace was signed between Great Britain, France, 
and Spain, as nearly as might be on Valentine’s 
Day of the year 1783. A sad and hard thing we 
found to believe it, and impossible to be pleased, 
after such practice of gunner}\ 

Nevertheless it was true enough, and confirmed 
by another ship ; and now a new ministry was in 
office under a man of the name of Fox, doubtless 
of that nature also, ready always to run to earth. 
Nothing more could be hoped except to put up 
with all degradation. A handful of barbarous fel- 
lows, wild in the woods and swamps of America, 
most of them sent from this home-country through 
their contempt of discipline, fellows of this sort 
had been able (mainly by skulking and shirking 
fight) to elude and get the better of His Britannic 
Majesty’s forces, and pretend to set up on their 
own account, as if they could ever get on so. No 
one who sees these things as clearly as I saw them 
then and there, can doubt as to the call I felt to 
rejoin the royal navy. 

Of course I could not dream that now there 
was rising in a merchant-ship captured from the 
Frenchmen, and fitted with two dozen guns, a 
British captain such as never had been seen be- 
fore, nor will ev'er be again; and whose skill and 
daring left the Frenchmen one hope only — to 
run ashore, and stay there. 

However, not to dwell too long on the noblest 
and purest motives, it did not take me quite three 
weeks to supersede the first instructor, and to get 
him sent ashore, and find myself hoisted into his 
berth, with a rise of two-and-tvv'o per week. This 
gave me eight-and-foui-pence, with another stripe 
on my right arm, and, what was far more to the 
purpose, added greatly to the efficiency of the 
British navy. Because the man was very well, 
or at any rate well enough, in his vv^ay and in 
his manners, and quite worth his vv^ages ; but to 
see him train a gun, and to call him first instruct- 
or ! Captain Bampfylde saw, in twenty minutes, 
that I could shoot this fine fellow’s head off, un- 
willing as I was to give offense, and delicate 
about priming. And all the men felt at once 
the power of a practiced hand set over them. I 
saw that the navy had fallen back very much in 
the matter of gunnery in the time of the twenty 
years or so since I had been gun-captain ; and 
it came into my head to show them many things 
forgotten. The force of nature carried me into 
this my proper position ; and the more rapidly, 
because it happened to occur to me that here 
was the very man pointed out, as it were by the 
hand of Providence, for Parson Chowne to blow 
up next. Our captain had the very utmost con- 
fidence that could be in him, and he stood on his 
legs with a breadth that spoke to the strength of 
his constitution — a man of enduring gravity. 
Also, his weight was such that the parson never 
could manage to blow him up with any powder 
as yet admitted into the royal dock -yards. I 
liked this man, and I let him know it; but I 
thought it better for him to serv’e his country on 
shore a little, after being so long afloat ; if (as I 
put it to his conscience) he could keep from poach- 
ing, and from firing stack-yards, or working dan- 
gerous ferries. He told me that he had no temp- 
tation towards what I had mentioned; but, on 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


107 


the other hand, felt inclined, after so many years 
at sea, to have a family of his own ; and a wife, 
if found consistent. This I assured him I could 
manage ; and in a few words did so ; asking for 
nothing more on his part than entire confidence. 
My nature commanded this from him ; and we 
settled to exchange our duties in a pleasant man- 
ner. I gave him introduction to the liveliest of 
the farmers’ daughters, telling him what their 
names were. And being over-full of money, he 
paid me half a crown apiece, for thirteen girls to 
whom I gave him letters of commendation. This 
was far too cheap, with all of them handsomer 
than he had any right to ; and three of them 
only daughters, and two with no more than grand- 
mothers. But I love to help a fellow-sailor ; and 
thus I got rid of him. For our captain had the 
utmost faith in this poor man’s discretion, and 
had thought, before I said it, of laying him up 
at Narnton Court, to keep a general look-out, be- 
cause his eyes Avere failing. I did not dare to 
offer more opinion than was asked for, but it 
struck me that if Parson Chowne had been too 
clever for David Llewellyn, and made the place 
too hot for him, he was not likely to be outwitted 
by Naval Instructor Heaviside. 

However, I could not see much occasion for 
Chowne to continue his plots any longer, or even 
to keep Avatch on the house, unless it were from 
jealousy of our captain’s visits. As far as any 
one might fathom that unfathomable parson, he 
had tAvo principal ends in vieAv. The first Avas to 
get possession of Miss Carey and all her proper- 
ty, by making her Mrs. ChoAvne No. 4 ; the sec- 
ond, Avhich Avould help him towards the first, AA-as 
to keep up against poor Captain Drake the hor- 
rible charge of having killed those tAvo children, 
Avhose burial had been seen as before related. 
And here I may meption, Avhat I had forgotten, 
through entire Avant of vindictive feeling — to Avit, 
that I had, as a matter of duty, contrived to thrash 
A^ery heavily both, of those fiHows on Braunton 
BurroAvs Avho had been spying on Narnton Court, 
and committed such outrages against me. With- 
out doing this, I could not have left the county 
conscientiously. 

And now on board the Alcestis, a rattling fine 
frigate of 44 guns, it gave me no small pleasure to 
find that (although the gunnery practice Avas not 
so good as I was accustomed to), in seamanship, 
and discipline, and general smartness, there Avas 
little to be reasonably complained of ; especially 
Avhen it Avas borne in mind Avhat our special duty 
AA'as, and why Ave AV'ere kept in commission Avhen 
so many other ships Avere paid off, at the conclu- 
sion of the war. Up to that time the Alcestis 
had orders to cruise off the western coasts, not 
only on account of some French privateers Avhich 
had made mischief Avith our shipping, but also as 
a draft-ship for receiving and training batches of 
young hands, aa’Iio Avere transfen*ed, as occasion 
offered, to Halifax, or the West Indies station. 
And noAV, as the need for new forces ceased. Cap- 
tain Drake Avas beginning to expect orders for 
Spithead to discharge. Instead of that, hoAA'ever, 
the Admiralty had determined to employ this 
ship, Avhich had done so much in the Avay of edu- 
cation, for the more thorough settlement of a 
question upon which they differed from the gen- 
eral opinion of the navy, and especially of the 
Ordnance Board. This was concerning the A’^al- 
ue of a new kind of artillery invented by a clever 


Scotchman, and called a “carronade,” because it 
was cast at certain iron-Avorks on the banks of 
the RiA'er Carron. This gun is noAv so thoroughly 
Avell knoAvn and approved, and has done so much 
to help us to our recent triumphs, that I need not 
stop to describe it, although at first it greatly 
puzzled me. It Avas so short, and light, and 
handy, and of such large calibre, moreover Avith a 
great chamber for the poAvder, such as a mortar 
has, that at first it quite upset me, knowing that 
I must appear familiar, yet not being so. How- 
ever, I kept in the backgi-ound, and nodded and 
shook my head so that every one misunderstood 
me differently. 

That night I arose and studied it, and resolved 
to back it up, because only Captain Drake AA'as in 
its favor, and the first lieutenant. Heaviside Avas 
against it strongly, although he said that six 
months ago the Rainbow, and old 44, being refit- 
ted Avith nothing else but can’onades of large cal- 
ibre, had created such terror in a French ship of 
almost equal force, that she fired a broadside of 
honor, and then surrendered to the Rainbow. 
But to come back to our Alcestis, at the time I 
Avas promoted to first place in gunnery. Over 
and above her proper armament of long guns, 
eighteen and twelA'e pounders, she carried on the 
quarter-deck six 24-pounder carronades, and two 
of 18 in the forecastle. So that in truth she had 
fifty-tAA'O guns, and Avas a match in weight of 
metal for a French ship of sixty guns, as at that 
time fitted. Afterwards it Avas otherwise; and 
their artilleiy outAveighed ours, as much as a true 
Briton outAveighs them. 

Noav NaA’al Instructor Mr. LleAA’ellyn had such 
a busy time of it, and Avas found so indispensable 
on board the Alcestis, that I do assure you they 
could not spare him for even a glimpse of old 
NeAvton-Nottage, until the beginning of the month 
of May. But as I always find that people become 
loose in their sense of duty, unless girt up Avell 
Avith money (even as the ancients used to carry 
their cash in their girdles), I had taken advantage 
of a run ashore at Pembroke, to send our excel- 
lent parson Lougher a letter containing a £5 note, 
as Avell as a fsAv Avords about my present position, 
authority, and estimation. I trusted to him as 
a gentleman not to speak of those last matters 
to any untrustAVorthy person AvhateA-er ; because 
there Avould be six months’ pension falling due to 
me at SAvansea at the very time of Avriting ; and 
Avhich of course I meant to have ; for my zeal in 
overlooking my Avound could not replace me un- 
Avounded, I troAV. But knoAving our Government 
to be thoroughly versed in every form of stin- 
giness and peculation (\A’hich Avas sure to be 
doubled now a Fox Avas in), I thought that they 
might even have the dishonesty to deny me my 
paltry pittance on account of ancient merit and 
great valor, upon the shabby plea that noAv I Avas 
on full pay again ! They would have done so, I 
do believe, if their own clumsy and careless Avays 
had alloAved them to get scent of it. But they 
do things so stupidly, that a clever man need 
never alloAv them to commit roguery upon him. 
And by means of discreet action, I Avas enabled 
for fourteen years to draw the pension I had won 
so nobly, as Avell as the pay I Avas earning so 
grandly. HoAvever, these are trifles. 

The £5 note Avas for Mother Jones, to help our 
Bunny Avith spring-clothes, and to lay out at her 
discretion for my grandcliild’s benefit, supposing 


108 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


(as I must needs suppose) that Church-warden 
Morgan, in face of his promise, w'ould refuse in- 
dignantly to accept a farthing for the child’s nour- 
ishment. He disappointed me, however, by ac- 
cepting four-pound -ten, and Mrs. Jones was 
quite upset ; for even Bunny never could have 
eaten that much in the time. Charles was a 
worthy man enough (as undertakers always are), 
but it was said that he could not do according 
to his lights, when fancy brought his wife across 
them. Poor Mother Jones was so put out, that 
she quite forgot w'hat she was doing until she had 
spent the ten shillings of change in drawers for her 
middle children. And so poor Bunny got noth- 
ing at all ; nor even did poorer Bardie. For this 
little dear I had begged to be bought, for the 
sake of her vast imagination, nothing less than a 
two-shilling doll, jointed both at knee and elbow, 
as the Dutchmen turn them out. It was to be 
naked (like Parson Chowne’s folk), but with the 
girls at the well stirred up to make it more be- 
coming. And then Mother Jones was to go to 
Sker, and in my name present it. 

Alt things fail, unless a man himself goes and 
looks after them. And so my £5 note did ; and 
when I was able to follow it, complaint was too 
late, as usual. But you should have seen the 
village on the day when our Captain Drake — as 
we delighted to call him — found himself for the 
first time able to carry out his old promise to me, 
made beneath the very eyes of his true love, Isa- 
bel. The thought of this had long been chafing 
in between his sense of honor, and of duty set 
before him by the present Naval Board. And 
but for his own deeper troubles, though I did my 
best for ease, he must have felt discomfort. If 
I chose, I could give many tokens of what he 
thought of me, not expressed, nor even hinted ; 
yet to my mind palpable. But as long as our 
navy lasts, no man will dare to intrude on bis 
captain. 

Be it enough, and it was enough, that his maj- 
esty’s 44-gun ship Alcestis brought up, as near as 
her draught allowed, to Porthcawl Point, on the 
5th of May, 1783. This was by no means my de- 
sire, because it went against my nature to exhibit 
any grandeur. And I felt in my heart the most 
warm desire that Master Alexander Macraw 
might happen to be from home that day. Noth- 
ing could have grieved me more than for a man 
of that small nature to behold me stepping up in 
my handsome uniform, with all the oars saluting 
me, and the second lieutenant in the stern-sheets 
crying, “Farewell, Mr. David!” also officership 
marked upon every piece of my clothes in sight; 
and the dignity of my bearing not behind any one 
of them. But as my evil luck would have it, 
there was poor Sandy Mac himself, and more 
half-staiwed than ever. Such is the largeness of 
my nature, that I sank all memory of wrongs, 
and upon his touching his hat to me I gave him 
an order for a turbot, inasmuch as my clothes 
were now too good, and my time too valuable, to 
pennit of my going fishing. 

This, however, was nothing at all, compared 
with what awaited me among the people at the 
.well. All Newton was assembled there to wel- 
come and congratulate me, and most of them 
called me “Captain Llewellyn,” and everyone 
said I looked ten years younger in my handsome 
uniform. I gave myself no airs whatever — that 
I leave for smaller men — but entered so heartily 


into the shaking of hands, that if I had been a 
pump the well beneath us must have gone quite 
dry. But all this time I was looking for Bunny, 
who was not among them: and presently I saw 
short legs of a size and strength unparalleled, ex- 
cept by one another, coming at a mighty pace 
down the yellow slope of sand, and scattering the 
geese on the small green patches. Mrs. Morgan 
had kept her to smarten up — and really she was 
a credit to them, so clean, and bright, and rosy- 
faced. At first she was shy of my grand appear- 
ance ; but we very soon made that right. 

Now I will not enlarge upon or even hint at 
the honor done me for having done such honor 
to my native place, because as yet I had done 
but little, except putting that coat on, to deserve 
it. Enough that I drew my salary for attending 
to the old church clock, also my pension at Swan- 
sea, and was feasted and entertained, and became 
for as long as could be expected the hero of the 
neighborhood. And I found that Mother Jones 
had kept my cottage in such order, that after a 
day or two I was able to go to Sker for the pur- 
pose of begging the favor of a visit from Bardie. 

But first, as in duty bound, of course, I paid 
my respects to Colonel Lougher. As luck would 
have it, both the worthy colonel and Lady Bluett 
wei'e gone from home ; but my old friend Grumpy, 
their honest butler, kindly invited me in, and gave 
me an excellent dinner in his own pantry ; be- 
cause he did not consider it proper that an officer 
of the royal navy should dine with the maids in 
the kitchen, however unpretending might be his 
behavior. And here, while we were exchanging 
experience over a fine old cordial, in bursts the 
Honorable Rodney, without so much as knocking 
at the door. Upon seeing me, his delight was 
such that I could forgive him any thing ; and his 
admiration of my dress, when I stood up and 
made the salute to him, proved that he was bom 
a sailor. A fine young fellow he was as need 
be, in his twelfth year now, and come on a mitch- 
ing expedition from the great grammar-school at 
Cowbridge. To drink his health, both Grumpy 
and myself had courage for another glass ; and 
when I began to tell sea-stories, with all the em- 
phasis and expression flowing out of my uniform, 
he was so overpowered that he insisted on a horn- 
pipe. This, although it might be now considered 
under dignity, I could not refuse as a mark of re- 
spect for him, and for the service ; and when I 
had executed, as perhaps no other man can, this 
loyal and inimitable dance, his feelings were car- 
ried away so strongly that he offered all the money 
left him by a course of school-work (and amount- 
ing to fourpence-half-penny) if I would only agree 
to smuggle him on board our Alcestis when she 
should come to fetch me. 

This, of course, I could not think of, even for 
a hundred pounds, and much as I longed for the 
boy to have the play of his inclination. And in 
the presence of Grumpy too, who, with all his 
good-will to me, would be sure to give evidence 
badly, if his young master were carried away! 
And under such love and obligation to the noble 
colonel, I behaved as a man should do when hav- 
ing to deal with a boyish boy ; that is to say, I 
told his guardians on the next opportunity. 

But to break away at once from all these tri- 
fling matters, only one day came to pass before I 
went for Bardie. All along the sea-coast I was 
going very sadly ; half in hopes, but more in fear. 


V 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


109 


because I had bad news of her. What little they 
could tell at Newton was that Delushy was almost 
dead, by means of a dreadful whooping-cough 
all throughout the winter, and the small caliber 
of her throat. And Charles Morgan had no 
more knowledge of my warm feeling thitherway, 
than to show me that he had been keeping some 
boards of sawn and seasoned elm, two feet six in 
length, and in breadth ten inches, from what he 
had heard about her health, and the likelihood 
of her measurement. When I heard this, you 
might knock me down, in spite of all my uniform, 
with a tube of maccaroni. People have a foolish 
habit, when a man comes home again, of keep- 
ing all the bad news from him, and pushing for- 
ward all the good. If this had not been done to 
me, I never could have slept a wink ere going to 
Sker Manor. 

To me that old house always seemed even 
more desolate and forlorn with the summer sun- 
shine on it than in the fogs and storms of win- 
ter, perhaps from the bareness of the sand-hills, 
and the rocks, and dry stone walls, showing more 
in the brightness, and when woods and banks are 
fairest. I looked in vain for a moving creature ; 
there seemed to be none for miles around, except 
a sullen cormorant sleeping far away at sea. Only 
little Dutch was howling in some lonely corner 
slowly, as when her five young masters died. 

As I appi’oached the door in fear of being too 
late to say good-bye to my pretty little one, yet 
trying to think how well it might be for her poor 
young life to flutter to some guardian angel, my 
old enemy. Black Evan, stood and barred the way 
for me. I doubt if he knew me, at first sight ; 
and beyond any doubt at all, I never should have 
known him if I had chanced to meet him else- 
where. For I had not set eyes on his face from 
the day when he frightened us so at the inquest ; 
and in those ten months, what a change from rug- 
ged strength to decrepitude ! 

“You can not see any one in this house,” he 
said veiy quietly, and of course in Welsh ; ‘ ‘ every 
one is very busy, and in great trouble every one.” 

“ Evan Black, I feel sorrow for you — and have 
felt it, through all your troubles. Take the hand 
of a man wdio is come with good-will, and to help 
you.” 

He put out his hand, and its horn was gone. 
I found it flabby, cold, and trembling. A year 
ago he had been famous for crushing eveiy thing 
in his palm. 

“You can not help ns; neither can any man 
born of a woman, ” he answered, with his black 
eyes big with tears ; “it is the will of the Lord 
to slay all whom He findeth dear to me.” 

“ Is Delushy dead?” I asked, with a great sob 
rising in my throat, like wadding rammed by an 
untaught man. 

“The little sweetheart is not yet dead; but 
she can not live beyond the day. She lies pant- 
ing with lips open. What food has she taken for 
five days ?” 

Any one whose nature leads him to be moved by 
little things would have been distressed at seeing 
such a most unlucky creature finishing her tender 
days in that quiet, childish manner, among stran- 
gers’ tenderness. In her weak, defeated state, 
with all her clever notions gone, she lay with a 
piece of striped flannel round her, the lips, that 
used to prattle so, now gasping for another breath, 
and the little toes that danced so, limp, and frail, 


and feebly twitching. The tiny frame was too 
worn to cough, and could only shudder faintly, 
Avhen the fit came through it. Yet I could see 
that the dear little eyes looked at me, and tried to 
say to the wandering wits that it was Old Davy ; 
and the helpless tongue made effort to express 
that love of beauty which had ever seemed to be 
the ruling baby passion. The ci’own and stripes 
upon my right arm were done in gold — at my 
own expense, for Government only allowed yel- 
low thread. Upon these her dim eyes fastened, 
with a pleasure of sui-prise ; and though' she could 
not manage it, she tried to say, “How boofelyl” 

^ 

CHAPTER XLII. 

THE LITTLE MAID AND THE MIDSIHPJLiN. 

In this sad predicament, I looked from one to 
other of them, hoping for some counsel. There 
was Moxy, crying quite as if it were her own 
child almost ; and there was Peggy the milking- 
maid, allowed to offer her opinion (having had a 
child, although not authorized to produce one) ; 
also myself in uniform, and Black Evan coming 
up softly, with a newly-discovered walk. And 
yet not one had a word to say, except “poor lit- 
tle dear !” sometimes ; and sometimes, “we must 
trust in God.” 

“I tell you,” I cried; “that never does. 
And I never knew good come of it. A man’s 
first place is to trust to himself, and to pray to 
the Lord to help him. Have you nothing more 
to say ?” 

“Ilere be all her little things,” Black Evan 
whispered to his wife; “put them ready to go 
with her.” His two great hands were full of lit- 
tle odds and ends which she had gathered in her 
lonely play along the beach and on the sand- 
hills. 

“Is that all that you can do? "Watkin could 
do more than that. And now where is young 
Watkin?” 

They assured me there was no more to do. 
They were tired of trying every thing. As for 
Watkin, he it ivas who had brought the malady 
into the house, and now they had sent him for 
change of air to an uncle he had at Llynvi. 
Concerning Delushy, there was nothing for her 
to do but to die, and to go to heaven. 

“She sha’n’t die, I tell you,” I cried out 
strongly; “you are a set of hopeless ones. 
Twice have I saved her life before, when I was 
only a fishemian. I am a man in authority 
now ; and, please God, I am just in time to save 
her life once more, my friends. Do you give 
her up, you stupids ?” 

They plainly thought that I was gone mad by 
reason of my rise in life ; and tenfold sure of it 
they were when I called for a gown of red Pem- 
brokeshire flannel, belonging to Moxy for ten 
years now. However, poor. Moxy herself went 
for it; and I took the child out of her stuffy 
bed, and the hot close room containing it, and 
bore her gently in my arms with the red flannel 
round her, and was shocked to find h’ow light she 
was. Down the great staircase I took her, and 
then feeling her breath still going, and even a stir 
of her toes as if the life was coming back to lier, 
.what did I do but go out-of-doors into the bright 
May sunshine ? I held her uncommon and clear- 


110 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


ly-shaped face on my bosom, to front the sun- 
light, and her long eyelashes lifted, and her small 
breast gave three sighs. 

“ Good-bye, all of you,” I cried : “ she comes 
away with me this minute. Peggy may come, 
if she likes, with half a sheep on her back, to- 
morrow.” 

And so she did : and I could not give her less 
than half a crown for it, because of the ditfer- 
ence and the grace of God to darling Bardie. 
In my aims the whole way home, she lay like a 
new-born lamb almost, with her breath overcome 
at first, and heavily drawn, while her eyes were 
waking. Then, as the air of the open heaven 
found its way to her worn-out lungs, down her 
quiet eyelids dropped, with a sleepy sense of hap- 
piness, and her weak lips dreamed of smiling, 
and her infant breast began to rise and fall quite 
steadily. And so she fell into a great deep sleep, 
and so I took her to my home, and the air of 
Newton saved her. 

Our Bunny was very good. There could hard- 
ly have been any better child, when her victuals 
■were not invaded. She entered into Bardie’s 
condition, and took quite a motherly attitude to- 
wards her. And while the tiny one lay so weak. 
Bunny felt that the lead of mind was hers for the 
present, and might be established by a vigorous 
policy. However, in this point she Avas wrong, or 
at any rate failed to work it out. In a fortnight 
Bardie was mistress again, and poor Bunny had 
to trot after her. 

Now, although it Avas very pleasant to see the 
thankfulness of Black Evan, Avhen he came over 
CA^ery day, and brought his pockets full of things, 
and tried to look pleased Avhen truthful Bardie 
refused downright to kiss him ; pleasant also for 
me to be begged not only to fish, but even to 
shoot — perhaps because noAv the Avrong time of 
year — in and over and through a place, Avhere 
the mere sight of my hat had been sure to lead 
to a black eye under it ; in despite of all these 
pleasures, I perceived that business must be thor- 
oughly attended to. And taking this vieAv, I was 
strengthened in my own opinions by the concur- 
rence of every neighbor possessing a particle of 
sense. Not only Mother Jones — who might be 
hard, from so much family — but also the land- 
lord of the Jolly quite agreed Avith the landlady; 
and even Grumpy, a man of the utmost tender- 
ness ever knoAvn almost, and Avho must admire 
children, because he neA^er yet had OAvned any — 
all these authorities agreed that I must take care 
what I Avas about. For my part, finding their 
opinions go beyond my OAvn almost, or at any 
rate take a form of Avords different from my own, 
and liaA'ing no assurance how it might end, I felt 
inclined to go back, and give fair play to both 
sides of the argument. 

But, as often happens when a man desires to 
see the right, and act strictly up to it, the whole 
affair Avas interrupted, and my attention called 
aAvay by another important matter, and the du- 
ties springing out of it. And this came to pass 
in the folloAving manner; It happened upon 
Oak-apple morning that I Avas down on a little 
sand-hill, smoking a pipe, and Avith both children 
building houses upon my pumps. These pumps 
had lovely buckle^ of the very latqgt regulation ; 
and it was a pleasure to regard them when at 
leisure, and reflect upon their quality, as AA-ell as 
signification.. The children, however, took this 


matter from another point of view; and there 
was scarcely any thing to their little minds more 
delightful than to obscure my pumps Avith sand, 
and put up a tower OA’er them. And then, if I 
moved, doAvn came the whole; and instead of 
themselves, they laughed at me. I had Avorked 
A'ery hard in the Alcestis^ and for almost a week 
after landing found it a most delicious thing, be- 
cause so incomprehensible, to have nothing Avhat- 
ever to do. But long before noAv I Avas tired of 
it, and yearned to put on my old slops again, and 
have a long day of fishing as if Bunny’s life and 
mine hung on it. And Avhen I gaA^e a feast of 
turbot caught by that excellent Sandy MacraAv 
(and paid for at just Avhat he chose to charge), 
you Avould not have guessed it, but such Avere my 
feelings, that I only could make belieA’e to eat. 
And Sandy himself, by special desire, took the 
foot of the table, and Avent largely into eveiy 
thing ; but behaA’ed uncommonly well, for him. 

Now this is just the way I keep on going out 
of the proper track. If I could not train a gun 
much straighter than I can tell a story, France 
Avould haA^e conquered England, I believe, in 
spite of Nelson. It is the excess of Avindage, 
coming doAvn to me from great bards, Avhich 
prevents my shot from flying point-blank, as it 
ought to do. NeA'ertheless the Aullage children 
loA^ed my style, especially since his majesty had 
embellished me. And this was why I shunned 
the Avell, and sat among the sand-hills ; for really 
it Avas too hard to be expected to haAe in throat 
a neAv story, never heard before, every time a lit- 
tle pitcher came on the head of a little maid, to 
be filled, and then to go off again. Bardie and 
Bunny knew better than that, and never came 
for stories till the proper time — the twilight. 

Noav, as I Avas longing much to sacrifice all 
dignity, and throAv off gold lace and blue cloth, 
and A'erily go at the congers (Avhich I did the 
next day, and defied the parish to think what it 
chose of me), I beheld a pair of horses, Avith a 
carriage after them, coming in a lively manner 
tOAvards my nest of refuge. 

“It is useless now,” I cried aloud; “I can 
hope for no more peace. Every body knoAvs me, 
or belieA’es it right to knoAv me.” 

NeA’ertheless, on the Avhole, I felt pleased, Avhen 
I saAV that the harness Avas very bright and the 
running -gear knobbed Avith silver. And my 
amazement was what you may enter into^ Avhen 
really the driA*er proved to be no bigger than that 
little Master Rodnej’’ Bluett. He had the prop- 
er coachman by his side, for fear of accidents ; 
but to me, Avho had seen so much of horses now 
in Devonshire, it appeared a most rash thing to 
alloAv such a boy to navigate. 

IIoAvever, haA'ing caught me thus, he jumped 
out AA'ithout accident, while the coachman touch- 
ed his hat to me, or to his majesty as noAv repre- 
sented by me. 

Then that noble boy — as he ought no doubt to 
be entitled, being the son of a nobleman, although 
in common parlance styled an honorable boy, 
Avhich to my mind is no more than a simple con- 
tradiction — up he ran Avith his usual haste, ex- 
pecting to find only Bunny and me. But his as- 
tonishment was worth seeing, on dccount of his 
being such a fair young chap, Avhen suddenly he 
beheld poor Bardie, standing Aveakly on her legs 
not quite re-established yet, and in her shy man- 
ner of inner doctrine taking observation of him. 


THE MAID OF SKER. Ill 


A more free-and-easy school -boy there could 
scarcely be than Rodney ; and as for our Bunny, 
he used to toss her until her weight ovei’powered 
him. But with this little lady looking so pale, 
and drawn, and delicate, he knew (as if by in- 
stinct) that he must begin very gingerly. 

“Captain Llewellyn,” he said; “I am come 
to tell you that my mind is quite made up. I 
mean to go to sea as soon as I can have my 
clothes made."” 

“But, young sir,” I answered, with a wish to 
humor this fine boy, yet a desire to escape the 
noble colonel’s anger; “it is useless now to go 
to sea. There is no war. We must wait, and 
trust the Lord to send one.” 

“And how shall I be fit to manage a ship, 
and fight our enemies, unless I begin at once, 
and practice. Captain Llewellyn ?” 

In this there was so much truth, as well as 
sense of discipline, moreover such fine power of 
hope for another good bout at the French, that I 
looked at my pocket-lappets for an answer, and 
found none. 

“I can stand a great deal,” he cried; “on 
account of my age, and so on. But I can’t stand 
Latin and Greek, and I can not stand being put 
otf always. I know what they want me to do. 
They want me to grow too old for the navy ! 
And I do believe they will manage it. I am get- 
ting twelve, every day almost, and I can pull a 
pair of oars, and fire a cannon nine inches long, 
and sail a boat, if it doesn’t blow.” 

“For all that I can answer, sir,” my words 
were, being proud of him : “ and you know who 
taught’ you this, and that. And you know that 
he always did impress upon your early mind the 
necessity of stern discipline, and obedience to 
superiors. Your first duty is to your king and 
country, in the glorious time of war. But with 
a wretched peace prevailing, your duty is to the 
powers placed by Providence to look after you.” 

“I have heard that till I am sick of it,” he 
answered, rather rudely, for I seemed to myself 
to have put it well : “is that all you can do for 
me ? I had better not have come at all. Look, 
I have five guineas here, given me yesterday, and 
all good ones. I will put them just in there — 
and my word of honor — ” 

“My boy, if it were fifty, five hundred, or five 
thousand, would an officer of the royal navy think 
of listening to them ? You have hurt my sense 
of honor.” 

“I beg your pardon. Captain Llewellyn,” he 
said, hanging down his head ; “but you used not 
to be quite so proud. You used to like five shil- 
lings even.” 

“That is neither here nor there,” I answered, 
very loftily, and increasing his confusion: “five 
shillings honorably earned no man need be 
ashamed of. But what you have offered me is 
a bribe, for the low purpose of cheating your 
good uncle and dear mother. You ought to sink 
into the sand, sir.” 

He seemed pretty nearly fit to do so, for I put a 
stern face on, though all the time I could hardly 
keep from laughing most good-naturedly; when 
a little hand went into his, and a little face defied 
me. Poor sick Bardie had watched every word, 
and though unable to understand, she took hot 
sides with the weaker one. 

“E san’t sink into ’e sand, I tell ’a, ’e yicked, 
bad Old Davy. ’Hot’s a done to be ’colded so ? 


I’se very angy with ’a indeed, to go on so to a 
gentleyum.” 

By what instinct could she tell that this was a 
young gentleman ? By the same, I suppose, by 
which he knew that she was a young lady. And 
each of them ready to stand up for the other im- 
mediately ! It made me laugh ; and yet it is a 
sad thing to go into. 

“Now, my boy,” I began, for fear of losing 
the upper hand of them; “you are old enough 
to understand good sense when put before you. 
It is true enough that if you mean to walk the 
planks like a sailor, you can hardly begin too 
soon at the time of life you are come to. I was 
afloat at half your age, so far as I can remember. 
But I am bound to lay before you two veiy seri- 
ous questions. You will have to meet, and never 
escape from, every kind of dirt and hardship, nar- 
rowness and half-starving — not an atom of com- 
fort left, such as you are accustomed to. Dan- 
ger I will not speak of, because it would only 
lead you on to it. But the other thing is this: 
By going to sea, you will forever giieve and drive 
out of your prospects not only your good uncle, 
but perhaps almost your mother.” 

I thought I had made a most excellent speech, 
and Bardie looked up with admiration, to know 
when I meant to finish. But, to my surprise, 
young Rodney took very little heed of it. 

“That shows how much you know. Old Davy ! 
Why I was come on purpose to tell you that they 
are tired out at last : and that I may go to sea, 
if only you will appoint me a place on board of 
your ship Alcestis. Now do. Captain Llewellyn, 
do, and I will never forget it to you, if ever I be- 
come a great man.” 

“My dear boy, I would do it this minute if I 
had the power. But though they call me ‘ cap- 
tain ’ here, I am only captain of a gun, and in- 
strjictor of artillery. And even our captain him- 
self could not do it. He could only take you as 
a volunteer, and now there is no call for them. 
You must get your appointment as midshipman 
in the regular way from London. And the 
chances are fifty to one against your joining the 
Alcestis — that is to say, of course, unless you 
have some special interest.” 

His countenance fell to the lowest ebb, and 
great tears stood in his bold blue eyes ; but pres- 
ently the hopeful spirit of youth and brave lineage 
returned. 

“I will write to my brother in London,” he 
said ; “he has never done me a good turn yet; 
perhaps he will begin this time.” 

Not to be too long about it, either by that or 
some other influence, he obtained his heart’s de- 
sire, and was appointed midshipman, with orders 
to join the Alcestis upon her next appearance 
off our coast. You should have seen the fuss he 
made, and his mother too, about his outfit ; and 
even Colonel Lougher could not help being much 
excited. As for me, I was forced to go to and 
fro between Newton and Candleston Court every 
day, and twice a day, for the purpose of deliver- 
ing judgment upon every box that came. But 
when Master Rodney made me toss his spelling- 
books and grammar at his breast, to practice par- 
rying with his little dirk, I begged him to let me 
take them home as soon as he was tired. I have 
them now, with his little stabs in them, and they 
make me almost independent of the school-master 
in writing. 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


Not only was I treated so that I need not have 
bought any food at all — except for Bardie and 
Bunny — but also employed at a pleasant price to 
deliver lessons every morning as to the names of 
sails and ropes and the proper style of handling 
them. We used to walk down to the hard sea- 
shore, with a couple of shai*p sticks, whenever 
the tide allowed fair drawing-room. And the 
two little children enjoyed it almost as much as 
the rising hero did. The difficulty was to keep 
the village children, who paid nothing, from tak- 
ing the benefit of my lecture as much as Midship- 
man Bluett did. And they might have done so, 
if they cared to do it, for I like a good large au- 
dience ; but they always went into playing hop- 
scotch in among my ropes and yards, when all 
done beautifully in fine sand, and ready to begin 
almost — for the proper way is to have a ship 
spread naked first, and then hoist sail, if you 
want to show its meaning. I could not bear to 
be hard upon these young ones — and some of 
them good Mother Jones’s own — all in a mess of 
activity ; and I tried to think that it was all right, 
because money was earning anyhow. But I could 
not reconcile it with my sense of duty to make a 
game of well - paid work ; therefore I kept the 
children out, in a manner I need not now de- 
scribe, only you may rely upon it for real ingenu- 
ity ; for children are worse to manage than folk 
who have been through having them. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

A FINE PRICE FOR BARDIE. 

Now our own two little darlings had behaved 
so beautifully, gazing at the bad works of the 
others from a distance only, though sadly pushed 
to share in them, and keeping their little garters 
up, when the others were hopscotching ; also feel- 
ing, and pointing out, and almost exaggerating 
the ruin wrought by the other small ones (which 
they durst not come down to help), that I deter- 
mined to give them both a magnificent Sunday 
dinner. I would gladly have had the young 
midshipman down — for on Sunday he was such 
an ornament, as good as the best church- win- 
dow ! — but now our time was almost up; and 
though his mother w'ould have let him come to 
grace my humble cottage, the colonel insisted 
that he must go to take farewell of some excel- 
lent aunts, from whom he had large expectations, 
and who had ordered him up for the Sunday to 
the neighborhood of Cardiff. However, we could 
get on very well with our own aristocracy only, 
which I was sure poor Bardie was, though with- 
out any aunts to dine her, and it only made me 
the more determined to have a family party fed 
on good fare. We envied nobody as we sat 
down, and the little ones put up both hands, ac- 
cording to some ancient teaching. For the first 
coui'se we had conger, baked — a most nourishing, 
excellent dish, full of jelly and things for children. 
And this one was stuffed, like a loaded cannon, 
with meat-balls, pork fat, and caraways. Bun- 
ny went at him as if she had never secured such 
a chance in her life before ; but Bardie seemed 
inclined to wait for what was coming afterwards, 
and spent the time in watching Bunny with ad- 
miration and contempt mixed, as they are on a 
child’s face only. 


Then I brought in the dish of the day, with 
Bunny skipping and going about, and scorching 
her fingers to help me ; but Bardie (having gone 
into her grandeur) sitting at table steadfastly, and 
with a resolute mind to know what it was before 
approval. She had the most delicate nostrils, but 
what I brought made her open them ; because I 
had the very best half of the very best ham ever 
cured in our parish, through a whole series of 
good-luck. Luck, and skill, and*^the will of the 
Lord, must all combine for a first-rate ham ; ai'.d 
here they were met, and no mistake, both by one 
another and by excellent cooking afterwards. It 
would not become me to say any more, when it 
comes to my mind that the delicate gold of infant 
cabbage, by side of it, was also of my own plant- 
ing, in a bit of black mould in a choice niche, ere 
Bethel Jose had tempted me. In spite of all this 
wonderful cheer, and the little ones going on fa- 
mously, the sight of that young cabbage struck a 
vein of sorrow somewhere. To go away, and 
leave my house and garden for whole years per- 
haps, and feel that it was all behind me, in neg- 
lect and loneliness, with no one to undo the win- 
dows, or to sow a row of peas, or even dip a cab- 
bage in, and perhaps myself to find no chance of 
coming back to it, and none to feel the difference ! 
Like a knife all this went through me ; so that I 
must look upward quite, for fear of the little ones 
watching me. 

Those two little creatures ate with a power and 
a heartiness enough to make any body rejoice in 
the harmless glory of feeding them. After the 
very first taste, they never stopped to wipe their 
lips, or to consider any thing, but dealt with what 
they had won, and felt, and thoroughly entered 
into it. Only every now and then they could not 
help admiring what I take to be the surest proof 
of a fine ham and good cookery — that is to say, 
bright stripes of scarlet in between fat of a clear 
French white, not unlike our streaky jaspers in- 
terlaid with agate. To see that little thing, who 
scarce could lift a finger three weeks ago, now 
playing so brisk a knife and fork, filled me with 
gi-atitude and joy, so that I made up my mind to 
finish my dinner from the conger, and keep the 
rest of the ham for her. 

I gave the little souls their wine — as they call- 
ed it — of gooseberr}'- water, a good egg-cupful 
apiece ; and away they went, like two little wom- 
en, into the garden to play with, it, and see who 
would keep it the longest. Then I put the rest 
of the ham in the cupboard, and, returning to the 
conger, began to enjoy the carver’s privilege of 
ten minutes for his own fork. But just as I had 
done handsomely well, and was now preparing 
to think about a pipe of fine naw tobacco, and a 
small nip of old rum and water, suddenly my 
door was darkened, and there stood the very last 
man (save one) whom, for my comfort and calm 
Sabbath feeling, I could ever have wished to see. 

“Peace be to this house,” he began, with his 
hands spread out and his eyes turned up, but his 
nostrils taking sniff’ of things — “peace be to this 
humble home, and the perishing flesh contained 
in it ! Brother Davy, is it well with thee ?” 

“Brother Hezekiah,” said I, perceiving what 
he was up to : “no flesh does this house contain ; 
for that it is too humble. But in the name of 
the Lord, right welcome art thou to cold conger ! 
Brother, I pray thee, arise and eat ; and go forty 
days hence on the strength of it.” 


THE JVIAID OF SEEK. 


113 


“It hath been done,” replied Hezekiah, “by 
Divine grace and unceasing prayer. But come, 
old chap, I am sure you have got something bet- 
ter in that cupboard. Stinking fish hast thou 
often sold me, and lo, I have striven to like it ! 
therefore give me good meat now, and let us re- 
joice at thy great doings.” 

This speech was so full of truth that it got the 
upper hand of me, both by the sense of compunc- 
tion and the strength of hospitality, and I could 
no longer deny to Perkins all that remained of 
poor Bardie’s ham. “I have expounded the 
word of the Lord, I have been as Lot in your lit- 
tle Zoar,” he cried, going on for the third help 
of ham ; “ my spirit was mighty within me, Da- 
vid ; and Hepzibah took up the wondrous tale. 
Backsliding brother, w'here hast thou been ? 
There is a movement and revival set afoot from 
my burning words and Hepzibah’s prophecies, 
such as shall make your rotten old church — ” 

“ Have a drop of beer,” I said, for I did not like 
to see him shake his fist at our church-tower. 

“Well, I don’t mind if I do,” he answered, 
“now I come to think of it. Every thing in its 
season, brother. And a drop of your old rum 
afterwai’ds.” 

I pretended not to hear this last ; for though 
I might stand him in two-penny ale, I saw no 
reason for spoiling the tops of a bottle or two 
that I scorned to open, even when my rheumatics 
had leaped from my double half-ribs to my ear- 
drops. So, after observing that things were 
locked up, I ran into the Jolly and fetched a 
pint of small ale very rapidly. Not expecting 
me back so soon, he had made a good round, 
with his knife in his hand, to see what might be 
hoped for. Now back he came Avith a groan, 
and said that he knew not what he was fit for. 
When the power of the Word came upon him, 
he had such spasms afterwards. 

I never love to be in company with a man of 
this sort. When my time is come for thanking 
God for a fine dinner, I would rather be along- 
side of a simple man and a stupid one, who can 
sit and think with me, and say no more about it. 
He knew my feelings, I do believe, and enjoyed 
them like pickles with his meat ; and after fin- 
ishing every morsel, even down to the mark of 
the saw upon the very knuck of it, up he put his 
tallowy thumbs with the black nails outward, and 
drew a long breath, and delivered, ‘ ‘ In the name 
of the Lord, Amen. And now. Brother David, 
rejoice a little, as behooves a Christian man, upon 
the blessed Sabbath-day.” 

“ Hezekiah, I have rejoiced to behold j’our 
joy in feeding, and to minister thereto. Now, 
having fnaition of fleshly things, take the Word 
of the Lord, oh my brother, and expound doc- 
trinally, though it be but a score of chapters. I 
will smoke, and hearken thee.” 

“Strong meat is not for babes, my son ; and 
a babe art thou. Old Dyo. Chaps like you must 
wait and watch for the times of edification. 
There is a time for sowing, and there is a time 
for reaping. Small ale is not meiit for such as 
bear the burden of the day.” 

“ ’Kiah, the smith,” I asked, very shortly, 
“ what is it you would have of me ?” 

“Brother Davy, I have offered a blessing on 
thy flesh-pots ; and good they were, though not 
manifold. It is comely that I shotdd offer an- 
other blessing on thy vessels. Daw,” 

H 


What could I do with such a man in my own 
house ? Brother Hezekiah became, at my ex- 
pense, most hospitable. I found no escape from 
my own bottle, without being rude to my visitor’s 
glass; and yet I enjoyed not a single drop, for 
want of real companionship. For all my wits 
were up in arms, as if against Parson Chowne 
almost ; because I knew that Master Perkins 
Avanted to make a fool of me. So I feigned to 
be half-seas-over, that he might think he had 
done it. 

“Ancient friend,” he began at last, Avhen he 
thought that I was ripe for it ; “thou hast lifted 
me above the height of edification. Peradven- 
ture I say words that savor not of wisdom, be- 
loved brother, the fault is thine : here I am, and 
there you are.” 

“How can any man having a smithy of his 
own go on so? An thou wert not tipsy, ’Kiah, 
thou couldst see the contrary. I am here, and 
thou art there.” 

“Just so. You haA’e put it Avonderfully,” he 
answered, after thinking: “we may both say 
right is right, which is the end of every thing. 
Keziah said to me, ‘Go seek Avhere he is, and 
how he is ; because I haA*e seen noble visions of 
his exaltation. ’ And yet, you see, exalted broth- 
er, scarce the tenth part came to her.” 

“ She knows what she is about,” said I ; “she 
dreamed of a red-hot cradle, and the hoof of Sa- 
tan rocking me. Noav I see the whole of it. It 
w'as Parson Chowne, and the ferry-boat, and the 
ketch I Avas all but burned in. Perkins, tell me 
more, my fidend. I haA’e gi’oaned much for neg- 
lecting the Avaraing of the prophetess.” 

“How many men have gi'oaned in vain for 
that same cause. Old Dyo ! Vainglorious males, 
they doubt her gift, because she is a female! 
Out of the mouths of babes and Avomen — broth- 
er, I forget the passage, but it comes to that, I 
think. And now she hath been again in trou- 
ble.” 

“Concerning what. Old Hezekiah ? As con- 
cerning Avhat, I pray thee ?” 

“ EA'en touching the child Delushy in the god- 
less house of Sker. In a holy trance it hatli 
been vouchsafed her to behold that poor kid of 
the flock bearing in her mouth a paper, Avhere- 
upon in letters of blood Avas Avritten, ‘ Come OA-er 
and help us.’ And Ave haA^e found a way to help 
her, Avith thy faithful testimony.” 

In his crafty sheep’s-eyed manner, made of 
crawling piety mixed Avith sharp and spiteful 
Avorldliness, he began to feel my soundings to- 
AA'ards a scheme so low and infamous, that my 
blood Avithin me boiled for being forced to bear 
Avith him. He had prepared the Avhole plot Avell, 
and Avhat it came to was just this : Inland there 
lived a Avealthy smelter of the Methodist tribe, and 
Hezekiah was deep in his books for long supply 
of material. Rees ap Rees was his name, and he 
longed, as every year be greAV older, to make up 
for an ancient Avrong, Avhich Avas coming home to 
him. In the early days Avhen he Avas poor, and 
clever, and ambitious, he had ousted his elder 
brother from his father’s hearth, and banished 
him. This poor felloAV fled to the colonies, and 
for many years no token and no news came home 
of him. MeanAvhile Rees ap Rees Awas growing 
elderly, and Avoni out Avith money, Avhich is a 
frightful thing to feel. But about a year ago, a 
half-caste sailor had come to his house, bringing 


114 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


a wretched death-scrawl from this supplanted, 
but never yet forgotten, and only brother. There 
were not a dozen lines, but they told a tale that 
made the rich man weep, and eat dry bread for 
days and days. His brother having been born 
without the art of getting on at all, was dying 
for want of food and comfort, having spent his 
last penny to keep the mouths of his two little 
babes at work. These poor children had lost 
their mother, and ^ere losing their father now, 
who with his last breath almost, forgetting 
wrongs, as we do in death, very humbly commit- 
ted them to the charge of his rich brother. And 
he said that his only remaining friend, captain of 
the Nova Scotia, had promised to deliver them 
safe in Bristol to be sent for. The dying father 
had no strength to speak of their names, or age, 
or any other particulars. 

Now it so happened that Rees ap Rees was 
deai'ly fond of children, as all rich childless peo- 
ple are, on account of being denied them ; and 
since his wife died he had often thought of adopt- 
ing some one. But being rich, he was fidgety 
now ; and none of the children in his neighbor- 
hood ever blew their noses. So here he found, 
as it were from heaven, two little dears coming 
down upon him, his next of kin and right heirs, 
and also enabling him to go to his parish church- 
yard, with a sense of duty done, although prefer- 
ring to rest elsewhere, if by law allow^able. You 
may suppose how he waited and watched: but 
those two little dears never came. Upon that, he 
longed for them so much more that he offered a 
reward of one hundred pounds for any tidings of 
them, and of two hundred pounds for both, or 
either, brought to his house in safety. Hence it 
will be clear enough what Hezekiah’s scheme 
was ; and half the reward was to be my own. 

“All thou hast to say, goodDyo, is what thou 
saidst at the very time — that the ship was not 
called Andalusia, but to the best of thy belief 
was more like Nova Scotia. Also that she was 
bound for Bristol, and that the other baby’s clothes 
bore no coronet, as they fancied, but the letter R, 
done fancifully, as might be by a fi'eemason, such 
as the poor father was said to be. That garment 
must be desti’oyed, of course. I have one pre- 
pared for the child Delushy, with ‘Martha ap 
Rees ’ in faint writing upon it. This the old man 
must find out for himself, after our overlooking it. 
He will then believe it tenfold. And after the 
sight of thy uniform, Dyo — ha ! how sayest thou, 
old friend? A snug little sum to invest for old 
age. Thou knowest the old saying, ‘ Scurvy in 
the navy ; but the navy’s self more scurvy ! ’ 
When thou art discharged with three half-pence 
a day, one hundred pounds with accumulations, 
say one hundred and fifty pounds then, will help 
to buy sulphur for thy rheumatics. Myself will 
give thee ten per cent, for it, upon sound security. ” 

“It sounds veiy well,” said I, to lead him; 
“one hundred and fifty pounds hath a fine 
sound.” 

“Not only that, my noble boy; but the hold 
thou wilt have on a rich young maiden, such as 
Martha ap Rees will be. The old fellow can’t 
last very long : none of those smelters ever do, 
and he hath heart-disease as well. Little Martha 
will come into twenty thousand pounds or more, 
and every penny of it hanging upon thee, and me, 
my lad. Is it well devised, is it grand, my boy ; 
is it worthy of old ’Iviah ?” 


“ That it is, ” I cried ; “ most worthy ! ” 

He flourished his glass in the pride of his heart, 
and even began to sing a song with a chorus of 
“Spankadilloes,” forgetting whose holy day it 
was. Unfortunately I did the same ; for my na- 
ture can never resist a song : moreover, I wanted 
to think a little — not from any desire to dwell 
for a moment on my own interest, but from the 
great temptation to make the fortunes of our poor 
castaway. But while I was nursing my left knee, 
with the foot giving time for another chorus 
(which was just beginning), I heard a tiny pipe, 
and turned round, and there was the little thing 
herself, dancing on one foot, and jerking the oth- 
er in mockery of my attitude, nodding her head 
to keep time as well, and for her very life sing- 
ing out, “Pankydillo, dillo, dillo,” while Bunny, 
peeping round the door-post, with a power of 
Sabbath feeling, looked as if the world ^^•ere end- 
ing. It was clear that Bardie had not seen Per- 
kins, whom she never could endure, else would 
she not have run in from the garden to bear a 
share in our melody ; and that good brother w'as 
so full of his noble scheme, and his song, and my 
rum, that he never noticed her baby voice ; and 
her quick light figure was out of his sight, from 
the comer of his boozing. Therefore I managed 
to get her away, and send her for a good walk 
with Bunny, to look for water-cress at Bruwys 
Well ; for I thought it wiser to keep that Per- 
kins ignorant of her whereabouts ; and Bunny 
could be trusted now to see to any one anywhere. 

Off went the heavy one very gravely, and the 
light one full of antics, even in front of the cot- 
tages singing “Pankydillo” (which hit her fan- 
cy), so that I feared some disrepute at such a 
thing going forth from our house upon a Sabbath 
evening. I tried to frown, but she made me 
laugh by turning round and clapping her knee, 
exactly as she had seen me do ; and it seemed 
the best thing to go back out of sight, ere neigh- 
bors got the key to it. Little she guessed that 
the fate of her life was dancing in the balance, 
and that her own lightsome play had turned it, 
whether for good or evil. 

How could I let such a spring of life, such a 
mischievous innocence, and thoroughly earnest 
devotion to play, sink and be quenched by a 
formal old Methodist in the iron district ? Sker 
House was dull enough for dry bones : but there 
at least she had the sands, and sea, and shells, 
and rabbits, and wild-fowl : nor any one to terri- 
fy her with religious terrors — which to the young 
are worst of all — unless it were a ghost or two 
of Avicked abbots repenting. Whereas I knew 
what an old compunctious Methodist is, who has 
made some money, and devotes his last years to 
“the service of Jehovah.” Even rtventy thou- 
sand pounds could not make it up to her. 

Therefore I shook Master Perkins up, for he 
really had been a little too free, and was going to 
sleep with his spectacles stuck for a corkscrew 
into another bottle, and I made him understand 
that his plan Avas a great deal too crooked for 
me, and that the sooner he Avent to seek Hepzibah 
(Avho Avas prophesying on a stool for pickling 
pork, doAvn at Betsy MattheAv’s), and to prepare 
for his midnight service, Avith a strong reAUA'al 
rising, the better chance he Avould have of escap- 
ing my noAV rapidly-groAving desire to afford him 
total immersion (Avhich is the only sah'ation of 
one highly respectable lot of them) in the Avell 


115 


THE MAID 

of John the Baptist. Hezekiah dreaded water 
so much that this hint was enough for him ; and 
off he set in a tipsy shamble, to lie down on the 
sand-hills ere he came face to face with the 
prophetess. When I had put things a little 
aright, and brushed up the hearth to a bit of fire 
(to waim the milk for the little ones), and by 
opening doors and Avindows sweetened all the 
place with summer floAving in and nestling round 
the relics of the sunset, and Avhen the neighbors’ 
chairs (Avhereon the A'ery old men had been sit- 
ting for their Sunday eA’ening) creaked, as if 
carried in and dusted for another Sunday, and 
there AA-as not one child left (except a bad child 
by the AA^ell, Avhose loose mind aa-us astray Avith 
stars, and took no heed of supper-time), then the 
tAA’o best children in the Aullage, neighborhood, or 
county, hand-in-hand came to my door. They 
AA’ere Avonderfully silent, and they stole (each in 
her OAA’n manner) just a little glimpse at me, to 
feel hoAv my temper lay ; then they looked at one 
another, to exchange opinions on that all-impor- 
tant matter. They kneAv' they had been out too 
late, and had frightened Granny a little perhaps, 
and therefore now had angered him. And in 
their simple w'ay, they thought it Aviser not to 
broach the question. I meant to scold them, 
but could not find it, when I beheld their pretty 
AA'ays, AA’ithin my poAA’er to do so. And lucky 
for them that I did not knoAV until next day, 
AA’hen too late to scold, AA’hat a dreadful mess their 
clothes Avere in. In that light I could only see 
their pretty faces gloAving, and their bright eyes 
full of doubt, and their little bodies shrinking 
back. Also bundles of AA’ater-cress put forAA’ard 
to mitigate righteous AA^rath. I felt that I had 
been haAung my spree, and these small creatures 
had only had theirs. So I kissed them both, 
and gave them good supper, and blessed them 
into their little bed. 

- - ■ — 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

PROVIDES FOR EDUCATION. 

Haa'ing before me seA’eral years of absence 
from home, if it should please the Lord so long 
to spare me, I noAv took measures for the Avelfare 
of those Avho Avould chiefly miss me. The little 
cottage Avas my OAvn from many generations, and 
in a neAv Avill made by a cleA'er man (no less than 
our ncAv school-master), I left it to Bunny, and 
all my effects, except my boat, and the sum of 
ten guineas, which tAvo items, as honor demanded, 
were for Mrs. Delushy. But Avhat is Avealth AA'ith- 
out education ? No more than a plummet Avith- 
out the line. IvnoAving this, I provided as fol- 
loAvs : 

A thoroughly fine new school- master had 
arisen, as aforesaid, for the pui-pose of educating 
all our NcAvton children. Our good parson had 
brought him in, not because the old one, being 
challenged by the village tailor to spell the Avord 
“horse” Avithout the picture, proA'ed his com- 
mand of the alphabet by accomplishing it in nine 
different ways, all Avrong (for that AA-as entered 
to his credit, Avhen the tailor failed to do the like), 
but because he horsed a boy and left him there 
for the aftemoon, ha\’ing fallen asleep Avithout 
thrashing him. And it shows Avhat the public 
confusion of mind is, that there Avere not three 


OF SKER. 

people in all the parish Avho could help jumbling 
these stories together, because each of them had 
a horse in it ! However, the poor old man had 
to go, and Colonel Rougher, having nothing to 
do Avith the spelling of the children, thought it 
so hard on his brother’s part, that he made the 
old man his head-gardener, so as to double his 
Avages, and enable him to sleep not half, but the 
Avhole of the aftemoon. 

His successor in the school had been sought 
out veiy diligently, and he could spell almost as 
AA'ell as Bardie could pronounce a Avord. But 
Avhen Ave found that he came from a distance 
more than a quick man could Avalk in a day, and 
that he could not through all his forefathers (al- 
though they Avere quite at his finger-ends) claim 
so much even as intermaniage Avith any of our 
third-rate families, much less Avith any Llewellyns, 
or Hopkins, or BeA'ans, or OA’en Thomases, Ave 
saAv that even Parson Rougher had gone a little 
too far for us, and not a Avoman in the place would 
let a bedroom to that man. HoAvever, Ave could 
not bolt him out of his OAvn school-room, and 
there he slept, contented Avith a pile of slates for 
bedstead, and of copy-books for bolster and for 
pilloAv. For a Aveek at least he had no school, 
but he Avent to church and sang beautifully (Avhich 
brought half the Avomen over), and the children 
began to be such a plague at home before Monday 
morning, that eight or nine were sent back to 
school, as if AA’ith halters round their necks. With 
these he took so much kind trouble, that in three 
hours they learned more than the parish had 
learned for a generation; so much that they 
could not keep it doAvn Avhen they went home 
for dinner. In the afternoon there Avere tAventy 
pupils, and by the end of the Aveek three dozen. 
But hoAv could they proA'e him to their parents 
qualified for a bedroom ? 

Upon the strength of my present position, and 
unrivaled experience, I found it my duty to come 
to the fore, and take the command of the house- 
holders. And knoAA'ing of course Avhat a AA’aste 
of time it is to reason with any body, I seized the 
bull by the horns, and offered Master Roger 
Berkrolles the occupancy of my cottage upon 
most liberal conditions. “That is to say, for 
rent per quarter, one sea-snail, and per annum 
one cockle-shell, to preserve the title ; provided 
nevertheless and upon this express condition that 
my laAvful granddaughter Bunny should be fed, 
alimented, sufficiently nourished, clothed, clad, 
apparelled, and in garments found ; also taught, 
instructed, indoctrined, educated and perfected 
in every branch of useful knowledge by the said 
Roger Berkrolles. Item, that if a certain child 
of tender years, known as ‘Delushy,’ should at 
any time appear on the premises, and demand 
instruction, instruction of the highest order, and 
three slices of bread-and-butter, should be im- 
parted to her Avithout charge, de die in diem." I 
objected to these “dies,” as being of a nasty 
church-yard sound ; but Master Roger convinced 
me soon, and must haA'e conAunced a far tougher 
felloAv, that to put our latter end out of sight and 
out of mind so, is a bad example and discourage- 
ment for the young ones, Avhose place it is to 
dAvell on it. 

A man of far coarser tone of mind than mine 
Avould be required to describe Master Roger’s 
sense of gratitude towards me. When I do a 
handsome thing, I can not bear to tell of it, nor 


116 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


even to receive the praise accruing from what 
neighbors know. “ Do it, and be done with it,” 
in all such cases is my rule ; and if Roger chose 
to give me an inventory of goods and chatties, 
he can bear me out in saying that I scorned to 
call a witness in to put his name to it. Business 
is not my strong point, and it never is with a 
man of largeness. 

The next thing for me to see to was to get 
some wicked warrants quashed; which a deep 
ignorance of my character, and the lies of very 
low villains, had induced some weak or vicious 
magistrates to issue : so that in the sporting sea- 
son (when I might have done my best), I was 
forced to decamp wth my telescope. This has 
been mentioned perhaps before ; but not my 
strong resolution to face it out, as soon as ever 
the sense of a strong position enabled me. No 
doubt they had meant to do their duty ; and I 
forgave them altogether. There were three of 
them. Two names I quite forget. How can 
one think of such trifles at sea? But the third 
was one Master Anthony Stew, who had tyran- 
nized over me dreadfully in the times of my trib- 
ulation. Up to this man’s gate I went, and rang 
the great bell, with my three stripes on, and a cap 
of fronted tapestry. Squire Anthony was about, 
somewhere on the premises, would my honor 
mind waiting while the boy went round to look 
for him ? This maid never guessed how often 
she had told me my fish was bad, and what a 
shame it was to make them eat it up in the 
kitchen, or starve ; and where did I hope to go 
to? Neither did she recollect how she had as 
good as made me kiss her behind the meat- 
screen, when my glory began to grow for saving 
those drowned niggers. And yet I could not be 
sure that she did not know it all, and hide it all, 
for the joy of boasting afterwards. I understand 
eveiy thing except women. 

T^en I was shown into the drawing-room, and 
Mrs. Stew with a courtesy went out, as if afraid 
to trust herself in a presence so imposing, I had 
a great mind to take a nip at some of the rubbish 
upon the table. The whole of these knickknacks 
could never have paid me half what this fellow 
had cost me in fines, expenses, costs, and so on, 
without a bit of evidence from any man of char- 
acter. However, I only looked at them. 

When that low Anthony Stew came in, he knew 
me (before I could speak almost) ; he gave a quick 
glance at the table, and then without another word 
showed me out, in spite of all my uniform, to his 
dirty little justice-room. With such a man, I 
should think it wrong to go into his ribaldiy : 
only he said this, at last : 

“ Davy, thou thief, we will withdraw them, be- 
cause we can not execute them, now thou art 
in royal service. Five there are, if I remember. 
Does your conscience plead to more ?” 

“ My conscience pleads to none, your worship. 
Perjured scoundrels all of them. Five was the 
number, I do believe. Alas ! what may we 
come to ?” 

“The gallows, Dyo, the gallows, thou rogue! 
Thou hast had some shavings. But when thy 
turn comes, good Dyo, I will do thee a good 
turn, if I can.” 

“Will your worship tell me why? I never 
looked for any thing but the flint-edge from your 
worship.” 

“Because thou art the only rogue I never was 


a match for. There, go thy way now ; go thy 
way; or I shall be asking thee to dinner.” 

“Nay, your worship, God forbid ! What food 
have I had since breakfast-time ?” And so I won 
the last word of him. 

After this provision for my good repute, and 
defiance of magisterial scandal on behalf of Bun- 
ny, my next act was one of pure generosity to- 
wards ail ancient enemy. Poor Sandy Macraw 
had a very hard fight to maintain himself and 
his numerous and still increasing family. Some- 
times they did not taste so mucli as a rind of ba- 
con for months together, but lived on barley- 
bread and dog-fish, or such stuff as he could not 
sell, with oatmeal cakes for a noble treat every 
other Sunday. What did I do but impart to 
him, under document drawn by Berkrolles, that 
hcense to fish off and on Sker Point which my 
courage had well established, with authority to 
him and covenant by him to attack and scare all 
poachers ; the whole to be void upon my return, 
if so I should think proper. And not only this, 
but I put him in funds to replace all his tackle, 
by enabling him to sell his boat. For I went so 
far as to lease him my own, at a moderate yearly 
rental, upon condition that he should keep her in 
thorough repair and as good as new. And for 
the further validity (as the lease said) of this 
agreement, two years’ rent became due at once, 
and was paid from the price of the other boat. 
My boat went twice as fast as Sandy’s, and was 
far more handy, so that this bargain was fair and 
generous, and did honor to all concerned. 

The next and last thing, before starting, was 
to provide for poor Bardie herself. For I feared 
that Hezekiah, or some other unprincipled fellow, 
might trump up a case, and get hold of her, and 
sell, or by other means turn into money, my little 
pet, to the loss of my rights, and perhaps her own 
undoing. Resolved as I was to stop all chances 
of villainy of that kind, I went direct to Colonel 
Lougher and to Lady Bluett. Here I made the 
cleanest breast that ever was scooped out almost. 
I may declare that I kept in nothing, except 
about painting the boat, and one or two infinite 
trifles of that sort, which it would have been a 
downright impertinence to dwell upon. Never- 
theless, Colonel Lougher said that some blame 
might attach to me in spite of all pure inten- 
tions. 

But Lady Bluett said no, no. She -would not 
hear of it for a moment. The only thing that 
surprised her was Llewellyn’s thorough unselfish- 
ness, and chivalrous devotion to a child who was 
nothing to him. She was a bewitching little 
dear ; no one who saw her could doubt that ; 
still it showed a very soft side to a wonderfully 
gallant character, when through all modesty it 
appeared what womanly tendeniess there had 
been. And this proved how entirely right her 
opinion had been from the very first, and what a 
mistake the good colonel had made in declining 
to let her even argue. 

“My dear Eleanor, my dear Eleanor,” cried 
the colonel, -s^dth his eyes wide open, and his 
white hand spread to her; “I am surprised to 
hear you say so. But we can not go into that 
question now. Llewellyn begged for my opin- 
ion. Yours, my dear (as you have proved), is 
of course more valuable : still I thought that it 
was mine — ” 

“To be sure it was, dear Heniy. Yours is 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


117 


what was asked for. My rule is never to inter- 
rupt you, but to listen silently.” 

“To be sure, Eleanor, to be sure! And we 
always agree in the end, my dear. But so far 
as I can judge at present, Llewellyn, although 
witli the very best meaning — ” 

“And a display of the greatest valor. Come, 
colonel, even by his own account — ” 

“Yes, my dear, great valor, no doubt, coupled 
with very sound discretion. Yet, when I come 
to consider the whole, 1 really do think that your 
hero might have entered more fully into these 
particulars about the boat. Of course, he had 
no motive, and it was simply an error of judg- 
ment — ” 

“Henry, there was no error at all. What 
could he do, when they would not even listen to 
him about the name of the ship ? If they would 
not listen about a ship, is it likely they would list- 
en about a boat ? And a very small atom of a 
boat ! The thing is too ridiculous.” 

Perceiving a pause, I made my bow; for the 
very last thing I could desire would be to sow a 
controversy between the gentleman and lady, 
whom of all the county I esteemed the most and 
loved the best. And I knew that if I caused dis- 
sension in a pair so well united, each would think 
the less of me when they came to make it up 
together. Moreover, my object was attained. 
Their attention was drawn to the child again ; 
the colonel, as the nearest magistrate, was put in 
legal charge of her : I was now quit of all con- 
cealment ; and Lady Bluett had promised to see 
to the poor thing’s education, if ever she should 
need any. 

This I hoped with all my heart that she would 
do, and quickly too. And, indeed, she was grow- 
ing at such a pace after that long illness, also 
getting so wonderfully clever about almost every 
thing, and full of remarks that might never strike 
a grown man till he thought of them, that the 
only way or chance I saw of taking the genius 
out of her was to begin her education. Forget- 
ting just now a good deal of my own, and being 
so full of artillery, I got Master Berkrolles to 
make the first start, and show her the way to the 
alphabet. Our Bunny now could spell ‘ ‘ cat ’’and 
“dog,” and could make a good shot at some oth- 
er words, and enjoyed a laugh at children (head 
and shoulders over her) whenever they tvent amiss, 
and she, from the master’s face, was sure of it. 
But Bardie had never been to school; for I 
thought it below her rank so much ; and now I 
contrived for our great school-master to come to 
my cottage, and there begin. 

It must have made the veiy gravest man, ever 
cut from a block or wood, laugh to behold Mas- 
ter Roger and her. He with his natural dignity, 
and well-founded sense of learning, and contin- 
ual craving for a perfect form of discipline ; yet 
unable to conceal his great wonder at her ways : 
she, on her side, taking measure of him in a shy 
glance or two, and letting her long eyelashes fall, 
and crossing her feet with one shoulder towards 
him, for him to begin with her. He voAved that 
he never had such a pupil ; instead of learning, 
she wanted to know the reason why of every 
thing. Why had A two legs and a girdle, while 
B had two stomachs and no leg at all ? C was 
the moon, from the shape of it. It was no good 
to tell her that C was the cat; a cat had four 
legs and C had none ; and as for D being a dog. 


she would fetch dear Dutch, if he would not be- 
lieve her, and show him what a dog was like. 
And then perceiving how patient he was, and un- 
derstanding his goodness, the poor little father- 
less soul jumped up on his knee, and demanded 
a play with him. He did not know how to play 
very well, because he was an ancient bachelor ; 
but entering into her sad luck, from knowledge 
of her history, he did the very best thing (as I 
thought) that ever had been done to her. He 
put her on a stool between his knees, and through 
the gloss of her hair he poured such very beauti- 
ful and true stories, that one could almost see her 
mind (like the bud of a primrose) opening. She 
pushed up her little hands and tossed her thick 
hair out of the hearing way, and then, being ab- 
sorbed in some adventures like her own almost, 
round she turned, and laid her eyes upon his fur- 
rowed yet beaming face, and her delicate elbows 
on his knees, and drank in every word, with sighs, 
and short breath, and a tear or two. 

Although, from one point of view, I did not 
like to be superseded so, especially in my own 
department, as might be said, of story-telling, yet 
I put small feelings away, and all the jaundice of 
jealousy. If I were bound to go wherever Gov- 
ernment might order me, for the safety of our na- 
tive land, and with moderate pay accruing, also 
with a high position, and good hopes of raising 
it, the least I could do was to thank the Lord for 
sending those two poor children a man so wise, 
and accomplished, and kind-hearted, bound over 
to look after them. And yet I would almost as 
lief have committed them into the hands of Moth- 
er Jones, who could scarcely vie with me.. But 
they promised never to forget me ; and the night 
before I went away, I carried Bardie back to Sker, 
and saw that Black Evan was dying. 

»■ — - 

CHAPTER XLV. 

INTRODUCES A REAL HERO. 

Mr orders were to rejoin at Pembroke on the 
10th of June, where the Alcestislay refitting, and 
taking in stores for an ocean-cruise. Of course, 
I -was punctual to the day, and carried with me 
a fine recruit. Master Rodney Bluett. I received 
not only minute directions from his lady-mother, 
but also a tidy little salary, to enable me to look 
after him. This was a lady of noble spirit, and 
ready to devote her son for the benefit of his coun- 
try ; because there was no fighting now, nor any 
war in prospect. Also, Colonel Lougher came as 
far as the gate, where the griffins are, and patted 
his nephew’s curly head ; and said that although 
it was not quite as he himself could have wished 
it, he could trust the boy to be an honor to a loy- 
al family, and to write home every now and then, 
for the sake of his poor mother. For his own 
sake also, I think the colonel might have very 
truly said ; because while he was talking so, and 
trying to insist on duty as the one thing needful, 
I could not for a moment trust my own eyes to 
examine him. So we all tried to say ‘ ‘ good-bye, ” 
as if there was nothing in it. 

It was a vet}' long “good-bye,” even longer 
than tve could by any stretch have dreamed of. 
Two or three years w'as the utmost that we then 
looked forward to ; but I tell you simple truth in 
saying that not one of us had the chance of see- 


118 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


ing England, much less any part of Wales, for a 
shorter period than seven years and two months 
added. You may doubt me, and say, “Pooh, 
pooh ! that w’as your fault and so on. But you 
would be wholly wrong ; and from the Admiralty 
records our captain could prove it thoroughly. 
And what is much clearer than all, do you think 
tliat Captain Drake Bampfylde would have been 
s^ven years, or even seven days, away without 
sight of his beautiful lady, Isabel Carey, if it could 
have been managed otherwise ? 

It was a mixture of bad luck. I can explain 
a good deal of it, but not aU the ins and outs. 
We were ordered here and ordered there, and 
then sometimes receiving three contradictions of 
eveiy thing. Until tve should scarcely have been 
surprised at receiving signal, “H.M.S. Alcestis 
to the moon ; to wait for orders.” 

And if we had received that signal, I beheve 
we should have tried it, being by this time the 
best-trained and finest ship’s company in the 
■world. We had ceased to be a receiving -ship 
as soon as the war was over, and now were what 
they begin to call — though it sounds against the 
grain to me — an “experimental-ship.” And the 
Lord knows that we made experiments enough 
to drown, or blow up, or blow arms off’, every 
man borne on our blessed books. They placed 
me at the head of it all, until the others were up 
to it ; and a more uneasy or ticklish time I nev- 
er have known, before or since. Over and over 
again I expected to go up to the sky almost ; and 
you may pretty well conceive how frequent was 
my uneasiness. Nevertheless I still held on ; and 
Government had to pay for it. 

In four years’ time the old frigate began to be 
knocked almost to pieces ; and we made up our 
minds to be ordered home, and set our memories 
at work upon all who were likely to meet ns, if 
still in the land of the living. While at Halifax 
thinking thus, and looking forward to Christmas- 
time among our own families, a spick and span 
new frigate came, of the loveliest lines we had 
ever seen, and standing-gear the most elegant. 
She took our eyes so much at once, and she sat 
the water so, that there was not a man of us able 
to think of any thing else till all hands piped 
down. This was the Thetis, if you please, taken 
from the Crappos in the very last action of the 
war, a 46-gun frigate, but larger than an English 
60-gun ship. The French ship-builders are bet- 
ter than ours, but their riggers not to be com- 
pared; which is the reason, perhaps, why they 
always shoot at our rigging instead of our hulls. 
At any rate, having been well overhauled, and 
thoroughly refitted at Chatham, and rigged anew 
from step to truck, she presented an appearance 
of most tempting character. 

It was a trick of the Naval Board to keep us 
together, and it succeeded. Those gentlemen 
knew what we were by this time — the very best 
ship’s company to be found in all the service; 
and as there were signs already of some mischief 
brewing, their desire was still to keep together 
such a piece of discipline. My humble name had 
been brought forward many times with approval, 
but without any effect, so far, upon wages or po- 
sition. Now, however, my lords had found it 
expedient to remember me, and Da'vid Llewellyn 
was appointed master’s mate to the Thetis, if he 
should think fit to join her ; for the whole, after 
our long seiwice, w’as a matter of volunteering. 


There w’as not a man of us dared to leave 
Captain Drake Bamptylde shabbily. We turn- 
ed over to the Thetis, in a body, ■with him ; and 
the crew that had manned her from England took 
the old Alcestis home again. And junior Lieu- 
tenant Bluett, now a fine young fellow, "walked 
the quarter-deck of the Thetis, so that you should 
have seen him. But first and foremost was to 
see our great Captain Drake, as ready as if he 
were always looking out for an enemy’s ship from 
the foretop. He walked a little lame, on account 
of the piece the shark took out of liim : never- 
theless we had not a man to equal him for ac- 
tivity. I remember once when a violent gale 
caught us on the Banks of Newfoundland, and 
the sky came down upon us black as any thunder- 
cloud. The wind grew on us so towards nightfall, 
that, after taking in reef after reef, the orders were 
to make all snug, send down the top-gallant- 
masts, and lie-to under close-reefed maintop-sail, 
and foretop-mast stay-sail. Captain Drake "was 
himself on deck, as he always was in time of 
danger, and through the roar of the gale his or- 
ders came as clear as a bell almost, from the 
mouth of his speaking-trumpet. “Maintop- 
men, to station! Close- reef the maintop -sail. 
Mr. Bluett, clew up, clew up! There is not a 
moment to lose, my men. Spit to your hands, 
and stick like pitch. What ! are vou afraid then, 
all of you?” 

For the sail was lashing about like thunder, 
having broken from the quarter-gasket, and when 
the men came to the topsail-yard they durst not 
go upon it. Then a black squall struck them 
■with blinding rain, and they scarce could see one 
another’s faces, till a cheery voice came from the 
end of the yard, “Hold on, my lads — hold on 
there ! You seem so skeei’y of this job, I will do 
it for you.” “’Tis the devil himself!” cried old 
Ben Bower, captain of the maintop; “let him 
fly, let him fly, my lads!” “It is our captain,” 
said I, who was coming slowly up to see to it, 
myself prepared to do the job, and shame all 
those young fellows; “skulk below, you jelly- 
pots, and leave it to me and the captain.” “A 
cheer for the captain, a cheer for the captain !” 
they cried, before I could follow them, and a 
score of men stood against the sky, in the black 
pitch of the hurricane, as if it were a review al- 
most. For they guessed what the captain must 
have done, and it made a hero of each of them. 
While they came slowly up the rattlings, he climb- 
ed the rigging like a cat, and before they got to 
the lubber’s hole he was at the topmast-head, 
whence he slid down by the topping-lift to the 
very end of the mainyard. Such a thing done 
in a furious gale, and the sea going mountains 
high almost, beat even my experience of what 
British captains are up to. After that, if he had 
cried, “Make sail to ” — Heligoland, with no land- 
ing to it — there was not a man of us but would 
have touched his hat, and said, “Ay, ay, sir!” 

And now we first met Captain Nelson in com- 
mand of the Boreas, a poor little frigate: -we 
could have sunk her as easily as we outsailed 
her. But, as senior to Captain Drake, he at once 
assumed command of us; although it was not 
in our instructions to be at his disposal. The 
Americans then were caiTying on with the privi- 
leges of British subjects, in trading with the Lee- 
ward Islands ; although they had cast off our au- 
thority in a most uucourteous, and I might say 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


119 


headstrong manner. Captain Nelson could nev- 
er put up with the presumptuous manners of this 
race, and he felt bitterly how feeble had been our 
behavior to them. These are people who will 
always lead the whole world, if they can — count- 
ing it honor to depart from and get over old ideas. 
And now they were doing a snug bit of roguery 
•with the Leeward Islands, pretending to have 
British bottoms, while at bottom Yankees. 

Nelson set his face against it; and whenever 
he set his face, his hand came quickly afterwards. 
We soon cut up that bit of smuggling, although 
the governor of the islands w'as himself against 
us. Captain Nelson’s orders were to enforce the 
Navigation Act; and we did it thoroughly. 

Ever so many times I met him, as he now 
came to and fro ; and he took the barge-tiller out 
of my hand at least a dozen times, I think. For 
he never could bear that another man should seem 
to do his work for him, any more than he could 
bear to see a thing done badly. Not that he 
found fault with my steering (which was better 
than his own, no doubt), but that he wanted to 
steer himself. And he never could sit a boat qui- 
etly, from his perpetual ups and downs, and long- 
ing to do something. He knew my name ; he 
knew every one’s name; he called me “Old 
Dyo ” continually, because the men had caught 
it up ; and in my position, I could not perceive 
what right he had to do so. I had him on my 
lap, I won’t say fifty times, but at least fifteen ; 
for he never had sea-legs at all when a heavy sea 
was running : and I never thought it any honor, 
but cherished some hopes of a shilling or so. As 
for appearance, at first sight he struck me as rath- 
er grotesque-looking than imposing, in spite of 
his full-faced uniform and the broad flaps of his 
•vv’aistcoat. His hair, moreover, was drawn away 
from his forehead, and tied in a lanky tail, leav- 
ing exposed, in all its force, rather a sad face, 
pale and thin, and Avith the nose someAvhat lop- 
sided. Also the shoulders badly shaped, and the 
body set up anyhow ; and the whole arrangement 
of his frame nervous, more than muscular. 

In spite of all this, any man Avho knows the 
faces of men, and their true meaning, could not 
fail to perceive at once that here Avas no common 
mortal. The vigor and spirit of his eyes were 
such that they not only seemed to be looking 
through Avhatever lay before them, but to have 
distinct perception of a larger distance, and ea- 
gerness to deal with it. And the whole expres- 
sion of his face told of poAverful impatience, and 
a longing for great deeds, dashed AA'ith melan- 
choly. The entire creAv of his ship, I was told, 
Avere altogether Avrapped up in him, and Avould 
gh’e their liv^es for him Avithout thought; and 
there Avas not one of them but was mad Avith our 
Government for being at peace, and barring Cap- 
tain Nelson from the exploits he Avas pining for. 
One of them struck at me Avith an oar Avhen I 
said hoAV puny Nelson AA^as, compared Avith our 
Drake Bampfylde, and only the strong sense of 
my position enabled me to put up Avith it. And 
Avhat I said was all the time the very truest of 
the true ; and that Avas why it hurt them so. 
We, being noAv the finest and smartest frigate in 
the service, looked doAvn upon that tub of a Bo- 
reas^ and her Avaddle-footed crew, and her pale, 
pig-tailed commander, Avith a poAver of ignominy 
which they Avere not pleased Avith. And all the 
time Ave Avere at their orders, and they took care 


to let us knoAv it. We would haA-e fought them 
Avith pleasure, if the rules of the service allowed 
it. 

Enough of that uncomfortable discontent and 
soreness. The hardest point is for a very great 
man to begin to set forth his greatness. We 
could not at the moment see Avhy Horatio Nelson 
should thus SAveep off Avith the lead so. But af- 
ter he had once established Avhat he was, and 
Avhat he meant, there Avas no more jealousy. To 
this I shall come in its proper place ; I am only 
noAV picking up crumbs, as it AA'ere, and chewing 
small jobs honorably. 

But against one thing I must guard. Our 
Captain Drake Av^as never for a moment jealous 
of Captain Nelson. It Avas one of the things that 
annoyed us most Avhen Ave looked doAvn on the 
Boreas, and Avould gladly have had a good turn 
Avith those felloAvs Avho assumed such airs to us, 
to find that our beloA-ed captain Avas as full of 
Nelson as the AA’orst of the Boreases. And one 
of our men Avho Avent on strongly, took six dozen, 
and no mistake, and acknoAvledged how Avell he 
deserA-ed it. That is the Avay to do things, and 
makes all of us one family. 

It is time for me noAv to croAvd all sail for 
Spithead, as Ave did at last. Seven round years 
and two mouths Avere gone since I had seen old 
Cymru, and I could fill seven thousand pages 
Avith our AA^hole adA’entures. But none of them 
bore much on my tale, and nobody cares for my 
adventures, since I ceased to be young and hand- 
some ; and sometimes I almost thought (in spite 
.of all experience) that I had better have gone into 
matrimony Avith a young Avoman of moderate sub- 
stance. But (as is the case Avith those things) 
Avhen I had the chance I scorned it ; not being 
touched in the heart by any one, ami so proud of 
freedom. Moreover, the competition for a man 
among young Avomen may become so lively as to 
make him bear aAvay large down Avind. Exact- 
ly Avhat had happened to me in the land of DeA’- 
on shire. 

Three-quarters of my pay had been assigned to 
Roger Berkrolles, under my hand and signature, 
for the maintenance of our Bunny (so far as the 
rent might not provide it), and for the general 
management of things, and then to accumulate. 
So that, after all, I had not any amazing sum to 
draAv, remembering, too, that from time to time 
we had our little tastes of it. Nevertheless, Avlien 
added up, I really Avas surprised to find that the 
good clerks thought it Avorth so much quill-cliop 
over it. And now I had been for several years 
on the pay of a petty officer (master’s mate), and 
looking forward to be master, if he Avere good 
enough to drop off. 

He Avas truly tough, and Avould never drop off ; 
and I felt it the more because he Avas ten years 
my junior, and unseasoned. He dreAv half again 
as much as I did, though he kncAV that I had 
done all the Avork. He gave me tAvo fingers to 
say good-bye, Avhich is a loathsome trick to me ; 
so I put out my thumb, Avhich Avas difiicult to 
him : and the next time I saAV him he lay dead 
in the cockpit of the Goliath. 

In a word, I got so little, after all my long en- 
deaA’ors to secure the British nation from its 
many enemies, that verily I must have fallen to 
the old resource again, and been compelled to 
ask for alms to help me home in 1790, as had 
happened to me in the year of grace 1759. We 


120 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


sailors always seem to be going either up or down 
so much, without seeming to know why. Per- 
haps it is a custom from our being on the waves 
so much. However, I was saved from doing 
such disgrace to the uniform and to my veteran 
aspect, and the hair by this time as white as snow, 
simply through the liberality of our Captain 
Bampfylde. For he made me an offer, both kind 
and handsome, though not more, perhaps, than 
might be expected, after our sailing together so 
long. This was to take me home with him to 
Narnton Court, or the neighborhood, according 
to how the land might lie, and thence to secure 
me a passage (which is easy enough in the sum- 
mer-time) by one of the stone-boats to Newton 
Nottage. I felt that I might have come home in 
grander style than this was like to be ; and yet it 
was better than begging my way ; and scarcely 
any man should hope to be landed twice in all his 
life at his native village from a man-of-war. Of 
course, if Master Rodney Bluett had still been 
with us, he would have seen to my retura, and 
been proud of it ; but he had been forced to leave 
us, having received his appointment as third lieu- 
tenant to the Boadicea^ 74. 

Therefore I traveled with Captain Drake, and 
made myself useful upon the road, finding his 
coxswain (who came with us in a miserably me- 
nial manner) utterly useless, whenever a knowl- 
edge of life and the world was demanded. And 
over and over again, my assistance paid my fare, 
I am sure of it, whether it were by coach or post. 
Because the great mass of seamen appear, when- 
ever they come on shore, to enjoy a good cheat- 
ing more than any thing. The reason is clear 
enough — to wit, that having seen no rogues so 
long, they are happy to pay for that pleasure now. 

It was said that even the Admiralty had been 
playing the rogue with us, stopping our letters, 
and our news, to keep us altogether free from any 
disturbances of home. At any rate, very few of 
us had heard a word of England, except from 
such old papers as we picked up in the colonies. 
And now, after seven 3 -ears, how could we tell 
what to expect, or how much to fear ? 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

AFTER SEVEN YEARS. 

From Exeter to Barnstaple we crowded sail 
with horses’ tails, and a heavy sea of mnd leap- 
ing and breaking under the forefoot of our coach. 
Also two boys on the horses, dressed like any ad- 
mirals, one with horn on his starboard thigh, and 
the other with jack-boots only. It was my priv- 
ilege to sit up in the foretop, as might be, with 
Coxswain Toms in the mizzen-top, and the cap- 
tain down in the waist by himself. We made 
about six knots an hour, perhaps — whenever we 
got jerks enough to keep up the swearing. 

But the impatience of our captain showed how 
very y-oung he was, now at forty years of age, 
according to chronology, though nobody would 
believe it! Surely he might have waited well, 
after so long waiting ; and if he could not chew 
a quid — which breeds a whole brftod of patience 
— at any rate he had fine pipes, and with com- 
mon sense might have kindled them. I handed 
him down my flint and steel, and my hat to make 
a job of it ; but he shut up the glass, and cried, 


“More sail!” in a voice that almost frightened 
me. 

It was as dark as maintop-tree holes by the 
time we got to Barnstaple ; but we found no less 
than four fine lamps of sperm - oil burning, and 
tallow-candles here and there, in shops of spirit 
and enterprise. The horses were stalled, and the 
baggage housed in a very fine inn, looking up the 
street, and then the captain told Toms and me to 
bouse up our jibs, while he went out. This we 
were only too glad to do after so much heavy 
rolling upon terra Jirma, as those landsmen love 
to call it, in spite of all earthquakes, such as kill- 
ed thirty thousand Italian people, when first I took 
to the sea again. 

But before long Toms and I began to feel that 
we had no right to abandon our commander so. 
Here we were in a town that hardly ever saw a 
royal sailor, and could not be supposed to know 
for a moment what his duties were, or even to 
take a proper pride in seeing him borne harm- 
less. And here was our captain gone out in the 
dark, with his cocked hat on, and his gold-lace 
shining wherever a tallow-candle hung ; also with 
a pleasant walk as if he were full of prize-money ; 
though the Evil One had so patched up a peace 
that we never clinked a half-penny. 

When old Jerry Toms and my humble self had 
scarcely gone through three glasses, he said to 
me, and I said to him, that we were carrying on 
too coolly in a hostile town like this. And just 
at this moment the navy was down in popular 
estimation ; for such is the public urgency, when- 
ever we are paid for, without being killed or wound- 
ed. Therefore Jerry and I were bound to steer 
with a small helm, and double the watch. 

We beat up the enemy’s quarters calml}', find- 
ing none to challenge us; and then we got ti- 
dings of our captain out upon the Braunton Road. 
Jerry was a man of valor, and I could not hang 
back to bo far behind him ; and we had been con- 
cerned in storming many savage villages. So we 
stormed this little town, carrying our hangers, 
and nobody denied us. But before we were half 
a mile entirel}' out of hearing, the mayor arose 
from his supper, and turned out the watch, and 
beat the drums, and bred such alarm that in one 
street there were three more people alive ere 
morning. 

Meanwhile Jerry Toms and I shaped our course 
for the Braunton Road, and hit it, and held on 
to it. And because no man, in strange places, 
knows what the air may contain for him, Jerry 
sang a song, and I struck chorus ; with such an 
effect that the cows were frightened all along the 
hedgerows. This put us quite on our legs again ; 
and a more deeply sober couple could not, or at 
any rate need not, be seen, than that which m}’’- 
self and Jeriy were, after two miles of walking. 

In this manner, steering free, yet full of re- 
sponsibility, we doubled the last point of the 
road, where it fetches round to Narnton Court. 
And here we lay' to, and held council, out of the 
tide of the road^ and in what seemed to be a lime- 
kiln. 

The coxswain wanted to board the house, and 
demand our captain out of it : we had carried all 
public opinion thus, and the right thing was to go 
on with it. But I told him very strongly (so that 
he put down his collar from his ears to listen) 
that no doubt he was right enough upon a hun- 
dred thousand subjects, yet was gone astray in 


THE MAID OE SKER. 


121 


this. And if we boarded a house at night, after 
carrying all the town by storm, what ship had we 
to bear us away from the mayor and his consta- 
bles to-morrow ? 

In this dilemma, who should appear but the 
captain himself, with his head bowed down, and 
his walk (which was usually so brisk in spite of 
a trifling lameness), his veiy walk expressing 
that his heart was full of sadness. 

“How much longer? How much longer?” 
he was saying to himself, being so troubled that 
he did not see us in the shadow there. “ My 
own brother to have sworn it ! Will the Lord 
never hold His hand from scourging and from 
crushing me? Would that I were shot and 
shrouded ! It is more than I can bear.” 

In this gloomy vein he passed us; and we 
looked at one another, daring not to say a word. 
How could a pair of petty officers think of intrud- 
ing upon the troubles and private affairs of a post- 
captain, even though, since our ship was paid off, 
we could hardly be said to serve under him? 
“Blow me out of the mouth of a gun,” cried 
Coxswain Toms, in a shaking voice, “if ever I 
was so amazed before ! I would have sworn that 
our skipper was not only the handsomest but the 
happiest man in all the service.” 

“Then, Jem*, I could have set you to rights. 
How many times have I hinted that our skipper 
had something on his mind, and none of you 
w'ould hearken me ?” 

“True for you, my lad. I remember, now 
you come to speak of it. But we paid no heed ; 
because you looked so devilish knowing, and 
would go no farther. Old Dyo, I beg your par- 
don now ; there is good stifff in you, friend Dyo 
— thoroughly good stuff in you.”, 

“I should rather think there was,” I replied, 
perhaps a little dryly, for he ought to have known 
it long ago : “Jerry, I could tell you things that 
would burst the tar of your pig-tail. Neverthe- 
less, I will abstain, being unden^alued so. Ho, 
shipmate! Haul your wind, and hail! I am 
blessed if it isn’t old Heaviside!” 

Even in the dark, I knew by the walk that it 
was a seaman, and now my eyes were so accus- 
tomed to look out in all sorts of weather, that 
day or night made little difference to my sense 
of vision, which (as you may see hereafter) saved 
a British fleet, unless I do forget to tell of it. 

“Heaviside is my name, sir. And I should 
like to know what yours may be.” 

“David Llewellyn.” And so we met; and I 
squeezed his hand till he longed to dance ; and I 
w'as ready to cut a caper from my depth of feel- 
ing. 

I introduced him to Jerry Toms, according to 
strict formality ; and both being versed in the 
rules of the service, neither would take prece- 
dence ; but each of them hung back for the other 
fellow to pretend to it, if he dared. I saw exact- 
ly how they stood ; and being now, as master’s 
mate, superior officer to both, I put them at their 
ease, by showing that we must not be too grand. 
Thus being all in a happy mood, and 4esirous to 
make the best of things, we could not help let- 
ting our captain go to dwell upon his own for- 
tunes. Not that we foiled of desire to help him, 
but that our own business pressed. 

Gunner Heaviside led us down to a little cabin 
set up by himself on the veiy brink of Tawe high- 
water mark, as a place of retirement when hard 


pressed, and unable to hold his own in the bosom 
of his family. You may well be surprised — for I 
was more, I was downright astonished — to find 
that this was my old ferry-boat, set up (like a 
dog begging) on shores, with the poop channeled 
into the sand, and the sides eked out with tarpau- 
lin. A snugger berth I never saw for a quiet 
man to live in : and though Heaviside scorned 
to tell us, and we disdained to ask him, that — as 
I guessed from the first — was the true meaning 
of it. This poor fellow had been seduced — and 
I felt for his temptations — (when he came fresh 
from salt vrater, and our rolling ideas of women) 
into rapid matrimony with that shai-p Nanette. 
He ought to have known much better; and I 
ought to have given him warning ; but when he 
had made up his mind to settle, I thought it "was 
something solid. I gave him the names, as I 
may have said, of good substantial formers’ daugh- 
ters, owning at least a good cow apiece from the 
date of their majority, also having sheets and 
blankets, and (as they told me many a time) 
picked goose-feathers enough for two. And yet 
he must go and throw himself away upon that 
Nanette so ! 

But when I came to hear his case, and he for 
a moment w'ould not admit that it was worse 
than usual, or that he w'anted pity more than any 
other men do, and scarcely knew how for he 
ought, or dared even, to accept it ; and then at 
the gurgling of his pipe, fancied that he heard 
somebody; Jerry and I squeezed hands for a mo- 
ment, and were very careful not to tantalize this 
poor man with our strong-set resolution. “ Give 
a wide berth to all womankind,” was what w'e 
would have said, if w'e could, when now it was 
too late for him ; “ failing that, stand off and on, 
and let the inhabitants come down, and push off 
their boats and victual you.” 

Poor Heaviside fetched a sigh enough to upset 
all arrangements ; for Jeriy and I (good widow- 
ers both) were not likely to be damped, at the 
proper time for jollifying, by the troubles of a 
man who was meant to afford us rather a sub- 
ject for rejoicing. Therefore we roused him up, 
and said, or at least conveyed to him, that he 
must not be so sadly down upon his luck like 
this. And hearing that he had six children now, 
and was in fear of a seventh one, I was enabled 
to recollect more than twenty instances of excel- 
lent women who had managed six, and gone off 
at the seventh visitation. 

This good news put such sudden spirit into my 
old shipmate, that he ceased for a long time to be 
afeard of all that his wife could do to him. He 
never said a word to show what his mind sug- 
gested to him, whether good or evil. Only he 
made me tell those cases of unmerited mercy (as 
he put it) such a number of times that I saw Avhat 
comfort he was deriving. And then we chal- 
lenged him to tell us what was going on with 
him. 

He seemed rather shy of discussing himself, 
but said that he was in Sir Philip’s sendee, as 
boatman, longshore-man, and river-bailiff, also 
pork-salter (as a son of the brine), and water- 
cress-picker to the family. In a word, he had no 
work whatever to do; as you may pretty safely 
conclude, when a man is compelled to go into a 
catalogue of his activities. This sense of ease 
ovenveighed him, no doubt, and made the time 
hang heavily, after so much active service, so that 


122 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


Naval Instructor Hea\uside moved about, and be- 
gan to gossip, and, having no business of his own, 
spent his mind upon other folks’. Now, as we 
began to see through him, and the monotony of 
a fellow who is under his wife’s thumb (without 
the frankness to acknowledge, and enlist our sym- 
pathies for this universal burden), both Jerry and 
I desired to hear something a little more new 
than this. All things are good in their way, and 
devised by a finely careful Providence ; so that 
no man whose wife is a plague to him can fail 
of one blessed reflection — to wit, that things are 
ordered so for the benefit of his fellow-creatures. 

Thus our noble Heaviside, not being satisfied 
with the slate of things at home — especially after 
he had appealed to Nanette’s strong sense of rea- 
son (which bore sway in the very first week of 
half the honey-moon gloriously), and after he had 
yielded slowly all his outworks of tobacco, com- 
ing down from plugs to pipes, and from pipes to 
paper things, without stink enough to pay for 
rolling, and so on in the downward course, till he 
W'ould have been glad of diy sugar-canes, or the 
stems of “old man’s beard ” — this poor but very j 
worthy fellow gallantly surrendered, and resolved 
to rejoice, for the rest of his time, in his neigh- 
bors’ business mainly. 

Herein he found great and constant change 
from his own sharp troubles. Every body w^as 
glad to see him ; and the wives w'ho were the 
very hardest upon their ow’n husbands thought 
that he showed himself much too soft in the mat- 
ter of Madame Heaviside. It was not his place, 
when that subject arose, to say either “yes ” or 
“ no but to put aside the question, as one that 
can not be debated, out of the house, with digni- 
ty. Only every one liked him the more, the mo- 
ment they remembered how' contagious his com- 
plaint was. 

Kegard this question as you will (according to 
lack of experience), it was much for our benefit 
that the naval instructor w'as henpecked. He 
had accumulated things, such as no man can put 
together w’hose wife allow's him to have his talk. 
If he may lay down the law, or even suggest for 
consideration, he lets out half his knowledge, and 
forgets the other half of it. Whereas, if all his 
utterance is cut short at beginning, he has a good i 
chance to get something w-ell condensed inside 1 
him. Thus, if you find any very close texture 
and terseness in my writings, the credit is due to 
my dear, good wife, who never let me finish a 
sentence. I dare say she had trouble with me ; 
and I must be fair to her. It takes a very dif- 
ferent man to understand a different w'oman ; and 
these things will often touch us too late, and too 
sadly. I gave her a beautiful funeral, to my ut- 
most farthing; and took her head-stone upon 
credit, almost before the sexton would warrant 
that the earth was settled. 

That night my old friend Heaviside (wdio has 
led me, from like experience, into a w'holly dif- 
ferent tiling) showed some little of himself again, 
before our whale-oil light began to splutter and 
bubble too violently. Our society quite renewed 
his hope of getting away again ; especially when 
I explained to him that (according to my long 
acquaintance wdth law) no one could hold him 
accountable for any quantity of children which a 
Frenchwoman might happen to have. An alien, 
to wit, and a foreigner, worst of all a French- 
W'oman, could not expect all her froggy confine- 


ments to hold good in England. lie had com- 
mitted a foolish and unloyal act in buckling to 
with an alien enemy, and he deserved to pay out 
for it ; but I thought (and Coxswain Toms w'as 
of the same opinion) that poor Heaviside now 
had suffered ever so much more than even a 
Frenchwoman could expect of him. And we 
begged him to go afloat again. 

He shook his head, and said that he had not 
invited our opinions, but to a certain extent en- 
deavored to be thankful for them. Yet he sug- 
gested delicately that, after being so long at sea, 
we might have waited for our land-legs before 
we became so positive. And if we would not 
mind allowing him to see to his own concems, 
he would gladly tell all he knew about those of 
other people. This appeared to me to be a per- 
fectly fair offer; but Jerry Toms took a little 
offense, on account of not knowing the neighbor- 
hood. As superior officer of the three, I insisted 
upon silence, especially as from old times I knew 
what villainy might be around us. And as soon 
as Heaviside could descry quite clearly what tack 
I stood upon, he distinctly gave his pledge to be 
open as the day. Therefore we all filled our 
pipes again and took fresh lights for them, and 
looked at one another, while this old chap told 
his story. And please to mind that he had picked 
up a prawn-netful of little trifles, such as I never 
could stoop to scoop, because he won such chances 
through the way the women pitied him. Only I 
must in ship-shape put his rambling mode of 
huddling things. If you please, we are now go- 
ing back, seven years, and more than that, to tlie 
very date of my escape from Devonshire ; so as 
to tell you what none of us knew until we met 
with Heaviside. 

CHAPTER XLVII. 

MISCHIEF IN A HOUSEHOLD. 

It seems that no sooner did Parson Chowne 
discover how cleverly I had escaped him (after 
leaving my mark behind in a way rather hard 
to put up with), than he began to cast about to 
win the last stroke somehow. And this, not over 
me alone, but over a very much greater man, who 
had carried me off so shamefully — that is to say, 
Captain Bampfylde. Heaviside was not there 
as yet, but with us in the Alcestis, so that he could 
not describe exactly the manner of Chowne’s ap- 
pearance. Only he heard from the people there, 
that never had such terror seized the house with- 
in human memory. Not that Chowne attempted 
any violence with any one, but that all observed 
his silence, and were afraid to ask him. 

What was done that night between Sir Philip 
and the parson, or even between the parson and 
Sir Philip’s heir, the squire (whose melancholy 
room that Chowne had dared to force himself 
into), nobody seemed to be sure, although every 
one craved to have better knowledge. But it 
was certain that Isabel Carey went to her room 
very early that night, and would have no Nanette 
for her hair; and in the morning was “not fit 
for any one to look at,” unless it were one who 
loved her. 

Great disturbances of this sort happen (by some 
law of nature) often in large households. Give 
me the quiet cottage, where a little row, just now 
and then, comes to pass, and is fought out, and 


THE MAID OF SI^E. 


123 


lapses (when its heat is over) into very nice ex- 
planations, and women’s heads laid on men’s 
shoulders, and tears that lose their way in smiles, 
and reproach that melts into self-reproach. How- 
ever, this was not the sort of thing that any sane 
person could hope for in thirty miles’ distance 
from Master Stoyle Chowne, after once displeas- 
ing him. And what do you think Parson Chowne 
did now, or at least I mean soon afterwards? 
That night he had pressed his attentions on the 
beautiful young lady, so that in simple self-de- 
fense she was forced to show her spirit. This 
aroused the power of darkness always lurking in 
him, so that his eyes shone, and his jaws met, 
and his forehead was very smooth. For he had 
a noble forehead; and the worse his state of 
mind might be, the calmer was his upper brow. 
After frightening poor Miss Carey, not with 
words, but want of them (which is a far more 
alarming thing when a man encounters women), 
he took out his rights in the house by having an 
interview with Sir Philip ; and no one could make 
any guess about what passed between them. Only 
it could not be kept from knowledge of the house- 
hold that Parson Chowne obtained or took ad- 
mission to Squire Philip also. 

Of this unhappy gentleman veiy little has been 
said, because I then knew so little. I am al- 
ways the last man in the world to force myself 
into private things ; and finding out once that I 
must not ask, never to ask is my rule of action, 
unless I know the people. However, it does not 
look as if Master Heaviside had been gifted with 
any of this rare delicacy. And thus he discov- 
ered as follows : 

Squire Philip’s brain was not so strong as Cap- 
tain Bampfylde’s. He had been veiy good at 
figures, while things went on quietly ; also able 
to ride round and see the tenants, and deal with 
them, as the heir to a large estate should do. 
The people thought him very good; and that 
was about the whole of it. He never hunted, 
he never shot, he did not even care for fishing. 
A man may do without these things, if he gets 
repute in other ways (especially in witchcraft), 
but if he can not show good cause for sticking 
thus inside four walls, an English neighborhood 
is apt to set him down for a milksop. And ten- 
fold thus, if he has the means to ride the best 
horse, and to own the best dogs, and to wear the 
best breeches that are to be bought. 

Squire Philip must not be regarded, however, 
with prejudice. He had good legs, and a very 
good seat, and his tailor said the same of him. 
Also, he took no objection to the scattering of a 
fox, with nothing left for his brush to sweep up, 
and his smell made into incense ; nor was the 
squire, from any point of view, or of feeling, 
squeamish. Nevertheless he did not give satis- 
faction as he should have done. He meant well, 
but he did not outspeak it ; only because to his 
quiet nature that appeared so needless. And the 
rough, rude world undervalued him, because he 
did not overvalue himself. This was the man 
who had withdrawn, after deep affliction, into a 
life, or a death, of his own, abandoning hope too 
rapidly. He had been blessed, or cursed, by na- 
ture with a large, soft heart ; and not the flint in 
his brains there should be for a wholesome bal- 
ance. I know the men. They are not very 
common ; and I should like to see more of them. 

This Squire Philip’s hair was whiter than his 


i father’s now, they said ; and his W'ay of sitting 
! and of W'alking growing older. No wonder, 
when he never took a walk, or even showed him- 
self; rather like a woman yielding, who has lost 
her only child. It is not my place to defend him. 
All our ways are not alike. To my experience 
he seemed bound to grieve most about his chil- 
dren ; for a man may always renew his wife 
more easily than his children. But Squire Phil- 
ip’s view of the matter took a different starting- 
point. It was the loss of his wife that thus un- 
wisely overcame him. 

Accordingly he had given orders for women 
alone to come near him, because they reminded 
him of his wife, and went all around in a flat- 
footed way, and gave him to see that they never 
would ask, yet gladly would know, his senti- 
ments. And living thus, he must have groAvn a 
little weak of mind, as all men do, with too much 
of a female circle round them. 

What Parson Chowne said to this poor gentle- 
man, on the night we are speaking of, was known 
to none except themselves and two or three maids 
who listened at the door, because their duty com- 
pelled them thus to protect their master. And 
all of these told different stories, agreeing only 
upon one point ; but the best of them told it as 
follows : Chowne expressed his surprise and con- 
cern at the change in his ancient friend’s appear- 
ance, and said that it was enough to make him 
do what he often had threatened to do. Squire 
Philip then asked what he meant by this ; and 
he answered in a deep, low voice, “Bring to jus- 
tice the villain who, for the sake of his own ad- 
vantage, has left my poor Philip childless ; and 
with all the fair Isabel’s property too ! Greedy, 
greedy scoundrel ! ” They could not see the poor 
squire’s face when these words came home to 
him ; but they knew that he fell into a chair, and 
his voice so trembled that he could not shape his 
answer properly. 

“Then you, too, think, as I have feared, as I 
have prayed, as I would die, rather than be forced 
to think. My only brother ! And I have been 
so kind to him for years and years. That he was 
strong and rough I know ; but such a thing, such 
a thing as this — ” 

“He began to indulge his propensities for 
slaughter rather early — I think I have heard peo- 
ple say.” 

“Yes, yes, that boy at school. But this is a 
wholly different thing — what had my poor wife 
done to him ?” 

“Did you ever hear that Drake Bampfylde 
offered himself to the princess while you were 
away from home, and a little before you did?” 

“I never heard any thing of the kind. And I 
think that she w'ould have told me.” 

‘ ‘ I rather think not. It would be a very delicate 
point for a lady. However, it may not be true.” 

“Chowne, it is true, from the way you say it. 
You know it to be true ; and you never told me, 
because it prevents any further doubt. Now I 
see every thing, every thing now. Chowne, you 
are one of the best of men.” 

“ I know that I am,” said the parson, calmly ; 
“although it does not appear to be the public 
opinion. However, that will come right in the 
end. Now, my poor fellow, your wisest plan 
will be to leave yourself altogether to a thorough- 
ly trustworthy man. Do you know where to 
find him ?” 


124 


THE MAID OF SEEK. 


“ Only in you, in you, my friend. My father 
will never come to see me, because — you know 
what I mean — because — I dared to think what is 
now proved true.” 

“Now Philip, my old friend, you know what 
I am. A man who detests every kind of pre- 
tense. Even a little inclined, perhaps, to go too 
far tlie other way.” 

“Yes, yes; I have always known it. You 
differ from other men ; and the great fault of 
your nature is bluntness.” 

“ Philip, yon have hit the mark. I could not 
have put it so well myself. My fine fellow, never 
smother yourself while you have such abilities.” 

“Alas! I have no abilities, Chowne. The 
whole of them went, when my good luck went. 
And if any remained to me, how could I care to 
use them ? After what you have told me, too ! 
My life is over, my life is dead.” 

All the maids agreed at this point, and would 
scorn to contradict, that poor Squire Philip fell 
down in a lump, and they must have run in with 
their bottles and so on, only that the door was 
locked. Moreover, they felt, and had the cour- 
age to whisper to one another, that they were a 
little timid of the parson’s witchcraft. There 
had been a girl in Sherwell parish who went into 
the parson’s service, and because she dared to 
have a sweetheart on the premises, she had or- 
ders for half an hour, before and after the moon 
rose, to fly up and down the River Yeo, from 
Shenvell Mill to Pilton Bridge; and her own 
mother had seen her. Therefore these maids 
only listened. 

“All this shows a noble vein of softness in 
you, my good friend ” — this was the next thing 
they could hear — “it is truly good and grand. 
What a happy thing to have a darling wife and 
two sweet children, for the purpose of having 
them slain, and then in the grandeur of soul for- 
giving it ! This is noble, this is true love ! 
How it sets one thinking!” This was the last 
that the maids could hear ; for after that all was 
whispering. Only it was spread in every street, 
and road, and lane around, in about twelve hours 
afterwards, that a warrant from justices Chowne 
and Rambone, and with consent of Philip Bamp- 
fylde, was placed in the hands of the officers of 
the peace for the apprehension of Captain Drake, 
u])on a charge of murder. 

When Sir Philip heard of this outrage on him- 
self — and tenfold worse — upon their blameless 
lineage, he ordered his finest horse to be sad- 
dled, and put some of his anny-clothes on ; not 
I'.is best, for fear of vaunting, but enough to 
know him by. Then he rode slowly up and 
down the naiTOW streets of Barnstaple, and sent 
for the mayor and the towm-council, who tum- 
bled out of their shops to meet him. To these 
he read a copy of the w’arrant, obtained from the 
head-constable, and asked upon what informa- 
tion laid such a thing had issued. Between 
tlieir respect for Sir Philip Bampfylde and their 
awe of Parson Chowne, these poor men knew 
not what to say, but to try to be civil to every 
one. Sir Philip rode home to Narnton Court, 
and changed his' dress, and his horse as well, 
and thus set off for Chowne’s house. 

What happened there was known to none ex- 
cept the two parsons and the general ; but ev- 
ery one was amazed when Chowne, in company 
with Parson Jack, rode into Barnstaple at full 


gallop, and redemanded his warrant from the 
head-constable, wdio held it, and also caused all 
entries and copies thereof to be destroyed and 
erased, as might be ; and for this he conde- 
scended to assign no reason. In that last point 
he was consistent with his usual character ; but 
that he should undo his own act was so unlike 
himself that no one could at first believe it. Of 
course people said that it was pity for Sir Phil- 
ip’s age and character and position that made 
him relent so ; but others, who knew the man 
better, perceived that he had only acted as from 
the first was his intention. He knew that the 
captain could not be taken, of course, for many 
a month to come, and he did not mean to have 
him taken or put upon his trial ; for he knew 
right well that there was no chance of getting 
him convicted. But by issue of that warrant he 
had stirred up and given shape to all the suspi- 
cions now languishing, and had enabled good 
honest people to lay their heads together and 
shake them, and the boldest of them to whisper 
that if a common man had done this deed, or 
been called in question of it, the warrant would 
have held its ground until he faced an impartial 
jury of his fellow-countrymen. And, what was 
far more to Chowne’s purpose, he had thus con- 
trived to spread between Sir Philip and his eldest 
son a deadly breach, unlikely ever to be bridged 
across at all, and quite sure to stand wide for 
healing up to the dying hour. Because it was 
given to all to know that this vile warrant issued 
upon oath of Squire Philip and by his demand- 
ing ; and the father’s pride would never let him 
ask if this were so. 

Now people tried to pass this over, as they do 
with unpleasant matters, and to say, “let by- 
gones go;” yet mankind will never have things 
smothered thus, and put away. When a game 
is begun, it should be played out : when a battle 
is fought, let it be fought out — these are princi- 
ples quite as strong in the bosoms of spectators, 
as in our own breasts the feeling — “let us live 
our lives out.” 

But Isabel Carey’s wrath would not have any 
reason laid near it. Her spirit was as fine and 
clear almost as her lovely fi\ce was, and she would 
not even dream that evil may get the upper hand 
of us. 

She said to Sir Philip, “I will not have it. I 
will not stay in a fiouse where such things can be 
said of any one. I am very nearly eighteen years 
old, and I will not be made a child of. You have 
been wonderfully kind and good, and as dear to 
me as a father ; but I must go away now ; I must 
go away.” 

“ So you shall,” said poor Sir Philip ; “ it is 
the best thing that can be done. You have an- 
other guardian, more fortunate than I am ; and, 
my dear, you shall go to him.” 

Then she clung to his neck, and begged and 
prayed him not to think of it more, only to let 
her stop where she was, in the home of all her 
happiness. But the general was worse to move 
than the rock of Gibraltar, whenever his honor 
was touched upon. 

“My dear Isabel,” he answered, “you are 
young, and I am old. You were quicker than I 
have been to see what harm might come to you. 
That is the very thing which I am bound to save 
you from, my darling. I love you as if you w'ere 
my own daughter ; and this sad house will be, 


THE MAID OF SEEK. 


125 


God knows, tenfold more sad without you. But 
it must be so, my child. You ought to be too 
proud to cry when I turn you out so.” 

Not to dwell upon things too much — especially 
when grievous — Namton Court was compelled to 
get on without that bright young Isabel, and the 
female tailors who were always coming after her, 
as well as the noble gallants wiio hankered, every 
now and then, for a glimpse of her beauty and 
property. Isabel Carey went away to her other 
guardian. Lord Pomeroy, at a place where a 
castle of powder w'as ; and. all the old people at 
Narnton Court determined not to think of it ; 
while all the young folk sobbed and cried ; and, 
take it on the average, a guinea a year was lost 
to them. 

All this had happened for seven years now ; 
but it was that last piece of news, no doubt, al- 
most as much as the warrant itself, that made 
our captain carry on so when we were in the 
lime-kiln. Because Lord Pomeroy had forbid- 
den Isabel to w'lite to her lover while in tliis pre- 
dicament. He, on the other hand, getting no 
letters, without knowing why or wherefore, was 
too proud to send any to her. 

We saw the force of this at once, especially 
after our own correspondence (under both mark 
and signature) had for years been like the wind, 
going where it listeth. So we resolved to stop 
^Yhere we were, upon receipt of rations ; and 
Heaviside told us not to be uneasy about any 
thing. For although he durst not invite us to 
his OAvn little cottage, or rather his wife Nan- 
ette’s, he stood so well in the cook’s good graces 
that he could provide for us ; so he took us into 
the kitchen of Narnton Court, where they made 
us very welcome as Captain Drake’s retainei’s, and 
told us all that had happened since the depart- 
ure of Miss Isabel, between Narnton Court and 
Nympton. In the first place. Parson Chowne 
had been so satisfied with his mischief, that he 
spared himself time for another wedlock, taking as 
Mrs. Chowne No. 4 a young lady of some wealth 
and beauty, but reputed such a shrew that nobody 
durst go near her. Before she had been Mrs. 
Chowne a fortnight, her manners were so much 
improved that a child might contradict her ; and 
within a month she had lost the power of frown- 
ing, but had learned to sigh. However, she was 
still alive, having a stronger constitution than any 
of the parson’s former wives. 

Parson Jack had also married, and his wife 
was a good one ; but Chowne (being out of other 
mischief) sowed such jealousies between them for 
his own enjoyment, that poor Master Rambone 
had taken to drink, and his wife was so driven 
that she almost did the thing she was accused of. 
Veiy seldom now did either of these two great 
parsons come to visit Sir Philip Bampfylde. Not 
that the latter entertained any ill-will towards 
Chowne for the matta’ of the waiTant. For that 
he blamed his own son, the squire, having re- 
ceived Chowne’s version of it, and finding poor 
Philip too proud and moody to offer any expla- 
nation. 

We had not been at Namton Court more than 
a night before I saw the brave general ; for, hear- 
ing that I was in the house, and happening now 
to remember my name, he summoned me into 
his private room, to ask about the captain, who 
had started off (as I felt no doubt) for the castle 
of Lord Pomeroy. I found Sir Philip looking. 


of course, much older from the seven years past, 
but as upright, and dignified, and trustful in the 
Lord as ever. Nevertheless he must have grown 
weaker, though he did his best to hide it ; for at 
certain things I told him of his favorite son, great 
tears came into his eyes, and his thin lips trem- 
bled, and he w'as forced to turn away v/ithout fin- 
ishing his sentences. Then he came back, as if 
ashamed of his own desire to hide no shame, and 
he put his flowing white hair back, and looked 
at me very steadily. 

“Llewellyn,” he said, “ I trust in God. Years 
of trouble have taught me that. I speak to you 
as a friend almost, from your long acquaintance 
with my son, and knowledge of our story. My 
age will be three-score years and ten, if I live 
(please God) till my next birthday. But I tell 
3 '^ou, David Llewellyn, and I beg you to mark 
my words, I shall not die until I have seen the 
whole of this m^'stery cleared off', the honor of my 
name restored, and my innocent son replaced in 
the good opinion of mankind.” 

This calm, brave faith of a long-harassed man 
in the goodness of his Maker made me look at 
him with admiration and with glistening eyes; 
for I said to myself that, with such a deep knave 
as Chowne at the bottom of his troubles, his confi- 
dence even in the Lord was very likely to be mis- 
placed. And yet the very next day we made an 
extraordinary discovery, which went no little way 
to prove the soundness of the old man’s faith. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

A BREATHLESS DISINTERMENT. 

By this time we were up to all the ins and 
outs of eveiy thing. A sailor has such a knowl- 
edge of knots, and the clever art of splicing, that 
you can not play loose tricks in trying on a yarn 
with him. Jerry Toms and I were ready, long 
before that day was out, to tie up our minds in a 
bow-line knot, and never more undo them. Jer- 
ry went even beyond my views, as was sure to 
be, because he knew so much less of the mat- 
ter ; he would have it that Parson Chowne had 
choked the two children without any aid, and 
then, in hatred and mockeiy of the noble British 
uniform, had buried them deep in Braunton Bur- 
rows, wearing a cocked for a shovel hat, purely 
by way of outrage. 

On the other hand, while I agreed with Jerry 
up to a certain distance, I knew more of Parson 
Chowne (whom he never had set ej^es upon) than 
to listen to such rubbish. And w'hile we agreed 
in the main so truly, and thoroughly praised each 
othei’’s wisdom, all the people in the house made 
so highly much of us, that Jeny forgot the 
true line of reasoning, even before nine o’clock 
at night ; and dissented from my conclusions so 
widely, and with so much arrogance, that it did 
not grieve me (after he got up) to have knocked 
him down like a nine-pin. 

However, in the morning he was all right, and 
being informed upon eveiy side that the cook did 
it with the rolling-pin, he acknowledged the jus- 
tice of it, having paid more attention to her than 
a married lady might approve, though parted 
from her husband. However, she forgave him 
nobly, and he did the same to her; and I, Avith 
all my knowledge of women, made avowal in the 


126 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


presence of the lady-housekeeper, that my only ' 
uneasiness was to be certain whether I ought to 
admire the more the behavior on her part or on 
his. And the cook had no certainty in the morn- 
ing, exactly what she might have done. 

This little matter made a stir far beyond its 
value ; and having some knowledge of British 
nature, I proposed to the comitatus, with defer- 
ence both to the cook and housekeeper, also a 
glance at the first house- maid, that we should 
right all misunderstanding by dining together 
comfortably an hour before the usual time. Be- 
cause, as I clearly expressed it, yet most inoffen- 
sively, our breakfast had been ruined by a piece, 

I might say, of misconstruction overnight be- 
tween two admirable persons. And Heaviside 
came in just then, and put the cap on all of it by 
saying that true sailors were the greatest of all 
sportsmen 5 therefore, in honor of our andval, he 
had asked, and got leave from the gamekeepers, 
to give a great rabbiting that afternoon down 
on Braunton Burrows ; and he hoped that Mis- 
tress Cockhanterbury, being the lady-housekeep- 
er, would grace the scene with her presence, and 
let every maid come, to the utmost. 

Heaviside’s speech, though nothing in itself, 
neither displaying any manner at all, was re- 
ceived with the hottest applause ; and for some 
time Jeriy and I had to look at one another, 
without any woman to notice us. We made al- 
lowance for this, of course, although we did not 
like it. For, after all, who was Heaviside ? But 
we felt so sorely the ill effects of the absence 
of perfect harmony upon the preceding evening 
(when all our male members of the human race 
took more or less the marks of knuckles), that a 
sense of stiffness helped us to make no objection 
to any thing. And tenfold thus, when we saw 
how the maids had made up their minds for frol- 
icking. These young things must have their way, 
as well as the nobler lot of us : for they really 
have not so very much less of mind than higher 
women have ; and they feel what a woman is too 
well to push themselves so forward. They know 
their place, and they like their place, and they 
tempt us down into it. 

Be that either way — and now unwomanly 
women waste their good brains upon a trifle of 
this kind — rabbiting was to be our sport; and 
no sooner was the dinner done, and ten minutes 
given to the maids to dress, than every dog on 
the premises worth his salt was whistled for. It 
would have amused you to see the maids, or I 
might say all the womankind, coming out with 
their best things on, and their hair done up, and 
all pretending never even to have seen a looking- 
glass. 

Madame Heaviside (as she commanded all peo- 
ple to entitle her) Avas of the Avhole the very grand- 
est as regards appearance ; also in manner and 
carrying on ; but of this I haA'e no time to speak. 
Enough that the former naAM instructor- thought 
it Aviser to keep his OAvn place, and let her flirt 
Avith the gamekeepers. We had dogs, and ferrets, 
and nets, and ^ades, and guns for those who were 
clever enough to keep from letting them off at 
all, and to frighten the women Avithout any harm. 
There must have been fiA’e-and-tw'enty of us in 
number altogether, besides at least a score of 
children Avho ran doAvn from Braunton village 
Avhen they saAv Avhat Ave are at. There Avas no 
restraint laid upon us by any presence of the gen- 


try; for Sir Philip Avas not in the humor for 
sport, and the squire, of course, kept himself to 
his room ; and as for the captain, Ave had no to- 
ken of his return from South Devon yet. 

Therefore we had the most Avonderful fun, en- 
joying the Avildness of the place, and the fresh- 
ness of the river air, and Avillfulness of the sand- 
hills; also the hide-and-seek of the rushes, and 
the many ups and doAvns and pleasure of helping 
the young AA'omen in and out ; also hoAv these lat- 
ter got (if they had any limbs they Avere pi*oud 
of) into rabbit-holes on purpose to be lifted out 
of them, and fill the rosettes of their shoes, and 
haA^e them dusted by a naA’al man’s A^ery best 
pocket-handkerchief — together Avith a difficulty 
of standing on one foot Avhile doing it, or having 
it done to them, and a fear of breathing too much 
out — after onion-sauce at dinner-time — which 
made their figures look beautiful. Enough that 
I took my choice among them, for consideration ; 
and jotted doAvn the names of three, Avho must 
have some cash, from their petticoats. Let no- 
body for a moment dream that I started Avith 
this intention. The rest of my life AA^as to be 
devoted to the royal navy, if only a hot Avar 
should come again, of which Ave already felt 
simmerings. But I could not regard all these 
things, after so many years at sea, Avithout some 
desire for further acquaintance Avith the meaning 
of every thing. At sea Ave forget a great deal of 
their Avays. When Ave come ashore — there they 
are again ! 

This is a very childish thing for a man like me 
to think of. Nevertheless I do fall back from 
perfect propriety sometimes; never as regards 
money ; but when my feelings are touched by the 
Avay in which superior young Avomen try to catch 
me, or Avhen my opinion is asked conscientiously 
as to cordials. And this same afternoon the 
noble clearness of the sun and air, and the sound 
of meny A'oices glancing Avhere all the world 
(unless it Avere soft sand) Avould haA-e echoed 
them, and the sense of going sporting — Avhich 
is half the game of it — these and other things, as 
well as the fatness of the rabbits’ backs, and great 
skill not to bruise them, led the whole of us, more 
or less, into contemplation of Nature’s beauties. 
We must have killed more than a hundred and 
fifty conies, in one way and another, Avhen HeaA - 
iside came up, almost at a run, to a hill Avhere 
Jerry Toms and I were sitting doAvn, to look 
about a bit, and to let the young Avomen admire 
us. 

“What’s the matter?” said I, not liking to be 
interrupted thus. 

“Matter enough,” he panted out; “Avhere is 
madame? The Lord keep her aAA'ay.” 

“Madame is gone doAvn to the cave in the 
sand,” said Jerry, though I froAviied at him, “ to- 
gether Avith that handsome felloAv — I forget his 
name — underkeeper they call him.” 

“Hurrah, my hearties!” cried Heaviside; 
“that is luck, and no mistake. Noav lend a 
hand, every lubber of you. Her pet dog Snap 
is in the sand ; ‘ with the devil to pay, and no 
pitch hot,’ if AA^e take long to get him out again.” 

We knew Avhat he meant ; for several dogs of 
an overzealous character had been smothered 
in and buried in the rabbit-galleries, through the 
stupidity of people Avho croAvded upon the cone 
over them. Some had been dug out alive, and 
some dead, according to Avhat their luck Avas. 


THE MAID OF SEEK. 


127 


And now we were boiind to dig out poor Snap, 
and woe to us all if we found him dead ! 

I took the biggest spade, as well as the entire 
command of all of them, and we started at quick- 
step for the place which Heaviside pointed out to 
us. He told us, so far as his breath allowed, 
that his small brown terrier, Snap, had found a 
rabbit of tender age hiding in a tuft of rushes. 
Snap put all speed on at once, but young bunny 
had the heels of him, and flipped up her tail at 
the mouth of a hole with an air of defiance, which 
provoked Snap beyond all discretion. He scarce- 
ly stopped to think before he plunged with a yelp 
into the hole, while another and a wiser dog came 
up and shook his ears at it. For a little while 
they heard poor Snap working away in great 
ecstasy, scratching at narrow turns, and yelp- 
ing when he almost got hold of fur. Heaviside 
stood, in his heavy way, whistling into the en- 
trance-hole, which went down from a steep as- 
cent with a tuft of rushes over it. But Snap 
was a great deal too gamesome a dog to come 
back, even if he heard him. Meanwhile a lot 
of bulky fellows, who could do no more than 
clap their hands, got on the brow of the burrow 
and stamped, and shouted to Snap to dig deeper. 
Then of a sudden the whole hill slided, as a hol- 
low fire does, and cast a great part of itself into 
a deep gully on the north of it. And those great 
louts who had sent it down so found it very hard 
(and never desen^ed) to get their legs out. 

No wonder that Heaviside had made such a 
run to come and fetch us. For Snap must be 
now many feet under-ground, and the naval in- 
structor knew what it would be to go home to 
Nanette Avithout him. He stood above the slip 
and listened, and there aa’us no bark of Snap ; 
while to m}" mind came back strangely thoughts 
of the five poor sons of Sker, and of the little one 
dwelling in sand, forlorn and abandoned Bardie. 

“ Dig away, my lads, dig away !” I cried, from 
force of memoiy, and setting example to every 
one; “I have seen a thing like this before; it 
only wants quick digging.” We dug and dug, 
and drove our pit through several decks of rabbit- 
berths ; and still I cried, “ Dig on, my lads !” al- 
though they said it was hopeless. Then sudden- 
ly some one struck something hard, and cried 
“Halloo!” and frightened us. We crowded 
round, and I took the lead, and made the rest 
keep back from me, in right of superior disci- 
pline. And thence I heaved out a beautiful 
cocked -hat of a British captain of the royal 
navy, with Snap inside of it, and not quite dead ! 

Such a cheer and sound arose (the moment 
that Snap gave a little sniffy from universal ex- 
citement and joy, with Heaviside at the head 
of it, that I feared to be hoisted quite out of the 
hole and mounted on human shoulders. ,This 
I like well enough now and then, having many a 
time deserved without altogether ensuing it j but 
I could not stop to think of any private triumph 
now. The whole of my heart Avas hot inside me, 
tlirough Avhat I was thinking of. 

That poor honest felloAv, Avho so escheAved the 
adornment of the outAvard man, and carried out 
pure Christianity so as to take no heed of Avhat 
lie AA'ore, or whether he Avore any thing Avhat- 
ever ; yet who really felt for people of a Aveaker 
cultivation, to such an extreme that he hardly 
ever Avent about by day much — this noble man 
had given evidence such as no man, Avho had 


lost respect by keeping a tailor could doubt of. 

In itself, it was perspicuous j and so was the Avit- 
ness, before he put up Avith a sack, in order to 
tender it. 

The whole force of this broke upon me noAV ; 
while the others Avere shoAving the hat round, or 
blowing into the little dog’s nostrils, and Avith a 
rabbit’s tail tickling him; because in a single 
glance I had seen that the hat AA'as our Captain 
Bampfylde’s. And then I thought of old Sir 
Philip, striding sadly along these burrows, for- 
ever seeking something. “ Dig aAvay, dig aAvay, 
my lads ! Never mind the little dog. Let the 
maidens see to him. Under our feet there is 
something noAVAvorth a hundred thousand dogs.” 

All the people stood and stared, and thought that 
I Avas otF my Avits ; and but for my uniform, not 
one would ever have stopped to hearken me. It 
Avas useless to speak to Heaviside. The Avhole 
of his mind Avas exhausted by anxiety as to his 
Avife’s little dog. No sleep could he see before 
him for at least three lunar months, unless little 
'^Snap came round again. So I had to rely on 
myself alone, and Jerry Toms, and tAvo game- 
keepers. 

All these Avere for giA'ing up j because I can 
tell you it is no joke to throw out spadeful after 
spadeful of this heaAW, deceitful sand, Avith half 
of it coming back into the hole, and the place 
Avhere you stand not steadfast. And the rushes 
Avere combing darkly over us, shoAving their gin- 
ger-colored roots, and Avith tufts of jagged eye- 
brows threatening overAvhelment. For' our lives 
Ave Avorked aAvay — Avith me (as seems to be my 
fate) compelled to be the master — and all the 
people looking doAvn, and ready to revile us if 
Ave could not find a stirring thing. But Ave did 
find a stirring thing, exactly as I will tell you. 

For suddenly my spade struck something soft, 
and which returned no sound, and yet AA^as fine 
enough to stop, or at any rate to clog the tool. 
Although it Avas scarcely tAvilight yet, and many 
people stood around us, a feeling' not of fear so 
much as horror seized upon me. Because this. 
AA'as'not like the case of digging out poor bodies 
smothered by accident or the Avill of God, but 
Avas something far more dreadful , proof, to wjt,^ 
of atrocious murder done by villainy of mankind^ 
upon two little helpless babes. So that I scarce ^ 
could hold the spade, Avhen a piece of Avhite linen 
appeared through the sand, and then some tresses » 
of long fiiir hair, and then tAvo little hands crossed 
on the breast, and a set of small toes sticking up- 
Avards. And close at hand lay another young 
body, of about the same size, or a trifle larger. 

At this terrible sight, the deepest breath of 
aAve dreAV through all of us, and several of the 
Avomen upon the hill shrieked and dropped, and 
the children fled, and the men feared to come 
any nearer. Even my three or four felloAA'-dig- 
gers leaped from the hole Avith alacrity, leaving 
me all by myself to go on Avith this piteous disin- 
terment. For a moment I trembled too much 
to do so, and leaned on my spade in the dusky 
graA'e, AA'atching the poor little things, and loath 
to break Avith sacrilegious hands such innocent 
and eternal rest. “ Ye pure and stainless souls, ” 

I cried, “hovering even now above us, in your 
guardian angel’s arms, and appealing for judg- 
ment on your icy-hearted murderer, pardon me 
for thus iiiA'ading, in the sacred cause of justice, 
the calm sleep of your tenements.” 


128 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


In this sad and solemn moment, with all the 
best spectators moved to tears by my deep elo- 
quence, as well as their own rich sympathies, it 
struck me that the legs of one of the corpses 
stuck up rather strangely. I had not been taken 
aback at all by the bright preservation of hands 
and toes, because I knew well what the power 
of sand is when the air is kept far away ^ but it 
was dead against all my experience, that even a 
baby, eight years buried, should have that mus- 
cular power of leg. Without any further hesita- 
tion, up I caught the nearest of them, being des- 
perate now to know what would be the end of it. 

Three or four women, whose age had passed 
from lying-in to laying out, now ran down the 
hill in great zealousness, but though their pro- 
fession is perhaps the most useful of all as yet in- 
vented by human nature, there was no exercise 
for it now. For behold, in the evening light, 
and on the brink of the grave, were laid two very 
handsome and large Dutch dolls, clad in their 
night-gowns, and looking as fresh as when they 
left the doll-maker’s shop. The sand remained 
in their hair of course, and in their linen, but fell 
away (by reason of its dr}mess) from their faces, 
and hands, and feet, the whole of which w^ere of 
fine hard wax. But the joints of their arms and 
legs had stiffened, from having no children to 
■w’ork them, also their noses had been spoiled at 
some stage of their exsequies, and, upon the 
whole, it seemed hard to say whether their ap- 
pearance was more ludicrous or deplorable. 

However, that matter was settled for them by 
the universal guffaw of the fellows who had been 
scared of their scanty w'its not more than two 
minutes since, and many of whom were as brave 
as could be now to make laughter at my expense. 
This is a thing which I never allow, but very soon 
put a stop to it. And so I did now, without any 
hard words, but tuniing their thoughts discreetly. 

“Come, my lads,” I said, “we have done a 
better turn to the gentleman who feeds us than 
if we had found two thousand babies, such as you 
ran away from. Rally round me, if you have a 
spark of courage in your loutish bodies. You 
little know how much hangs on this ; while, in 
your clumsy, witless way, you are making a stu- 
pid joke of it. Mr. Heaviside, I pray you, seek 
for me Mistress Cockhanterbury, while I knock 
down any rogue who shows the impudence to 
come near me.” 

Every man pulled his proud stomach in when 
I spoke" of the lady-housekeeper, Avho w'as a Tar- 
tar, high up on a shelf, allowing no margin for 
argument. She appeared in the distance, as 
managing-women always do when called upon ^ 
and she saw the good sense of what little I said, 
and she laid them all under my orders. 

■» 

CHAPTER XLIX. 

ONE WHO HAS INTERRED HIMSELF. 

Such an effect was now produced all over all 
around us, that every man pressed for his neigh- 
bor’s opinion, rather than offer his own, almost. 
This is a state of the public mind that can not 
be long put up with ; for half the pleasure goes 
out of life when a man is afraid of argument. 
But inasmuch as I was always ready for all 
comers, and would not for a moment hearken 


any other opinion, the great bulk of conclusion 
ran into the mould I laid for it. 

This was neither more nor less than that Sa- 
tan’s own chaplain, Chowme, was at the helm of 
the whole of it. Some people said that I formed 
this opinion through an unchristian recollection 
of his former rudeness to me ; I mean when he 
blew me out of bed, and tried to drown, and to 
bum me alive. However, the great majority 
saw that my nature was not of this sort, but 
rather inclined to reflect with pleasure upon any 
spirited conduct. And to tell the whole truth, 
upon looking back at the parson, I admired him 
more than any other man I had seen, except Cap- 
tain Nelson. For it is so rare to meet with a 
man who knows his own mind thoroughly, that 
if you find him add thereto a knowledge of his 
neighbors’ minds, certain you may be that here 
is one entitled to lead the nation. He may be 
almost too great to care about putting this power 
in exercise, unless any grand occasion betides 
him ; just as Parson Chowne refused to go into 
the bishopric ,* and just as Nelson was vexed at 
being the supervisor of smugglers. Nevertheless 
these men are ready when God sees fit to appoint 
them. 

However, to come back to these dolls, and the 
opening now before them. The public (although 
at first disappointed not to have found two real 
babies strangled in an experienced manner) per- 
ceived the expediency of rejoicing in the absence 
of any such horror. Only there were many peo- 
ple of the lower order so disgusted at this cheat, 
and strain upon their glands of weeping, with no 
blood to show for it, that they declared their firm 
resolve to have nothing more to do with it. For 
my part, being some little aware of the way in 
which laurels are stolen, I kept my spade Avell up, 
and the two dolls in my arms, with their heads 
down, and even their feet grudged to the view 
of the gossipers. In the midst of an excited 
mob, a calm sight of the proper thing to do may 
lead them anywhere. And I saw that the only 
proper thing was to leave every thing to me. 
They (with that sense of fairness wdiich exists in 
slow minds more than in quick ones) fell behind 
me, because all knew that the entire discovery 
was my own. Of course without Snap I could 
never have done it, nor yet without further ac- 
cidents; Still there it was j and no man even, of 
our diffident Welsh nation can, in any fairness, 
be expected to obscure himself. 

My tendency throughout this story always has 
been to do this. But I really did begin to feel 
the need of abjuring this national fault, since 
men of a mixture ofivny sort, without even Celtic 
blood in them, over and over again had tried to 
make a mere nobody of me. 

Hence it was, and not from any desire to ad- 
vance myself, that among the inferior race I 
stood upon my rights, and stuck to them. If 
ever there had been any drop of desire for money 
left in me, after perpetual purification (from sev- 
en years of getting only coppers, and finding 
most of them forgeries), this scene was alone 
sufficient to make me glad of an empty purse. 
For any man who has any money must long to 
put more to it ; as the children pile their far- 
things, hoping how high they may go. I like to 
see both old and young full of schemes so noble, 
only they must let an ancient fellow like me keep 
out of them. 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


129 


These superior senses glowed within me, and ■ 
would not be set aside by any other rogue pre- 
ceding me, when I knocked at Sir Philip’s door, ' 
and claimed first right of audience. The other 
fellows were all put awaj^ by the sen'ing-men, 
as behooved them; then I carried in every thing 
just as it was, and presented the whole -srith great 
deference. 

Sir Philip had inkling of something important, 
and was beginning to shake now and then ; never- j 
theless he acknowledged my entrance with his ! 
wonted dignity, signed to the footman to refresh ' 
the sperm-oil lamps in the long dark room ; and 
then to me to come and spread my burden on a 
table. Nothing could more clearly show the self- 
command which a good man wins by wTestling 
long with adversity. For rumor had reached 
him that I had dug up his sou’s cocked hat and 
his two grandchildren, all as fresh as the day it- 
self. It is not for me (who have never been so 
deeply stirred in the grain of the heart by Heav- 
en’s visitations) to go through and make a show 
of this most noble and ancient gentleman’s doings, 
or feelings, or language even. A man of low 
station like myself would be loath to have this 
done to him, at many and many a time of his 
life ; so (if I could even do it in the case of a 
man so far above me, and so far more deeply 
harrowed), instead of being proud of describing, 

I must only despise myself. 

Enough to say that this snowy-haired, most 
simple yet stately gentleman, mixed the usual 
mixture of the things that weep and the things 
that laugh, which are the joint stock of our na- ' 
ture, from the old Adam and the young one. 
What I mean — if I keep to facts — is that he 
knelt on a stiip of canvas laid at the end of the ! 
table, and after some trouble to place his elbows ! 
(because of the grit of the sandiness), bowed his ! 
white forehead and silvery hair, and the calm ! 
majesty of his face, over those two doilies, and 
over his son’s very best cocked hat, and in silence 
wept thanksgiving to the great Father of every ; 
thing. 

“Darid LlewellvTi,” he said, as he rose and 
approached me, as if I w'ere quite his equal, “ al- j 
low me to take your hand, my friend. There 
are few men to whom I would sooner owe this 
great debt of gratitude than yourself, because you ' 
have sailed with my son so long. To you and 
your patience and sagacity, under the mercy of 
God, I owe the proof, or at any rate these to- I 
kens, of my poor son’s innocence. I — I thank 
the Lord and you — ” i 

Here the general, for the moment, could not ' 
say another word. 

“ It is true, your worship,” I answered, “that 
none of your o^vn people showed the sense or the | 
courage to go on. But it is a Welshman’s hon- ' 
est pride to surpass all other races in valor and 
abihty. I am no more than the very humblest 
of my ancestors may have been.” I 

“Then all of them must have been very fine ; 
fellows,” Sir Philip replied, with a tw'inkling 
glance. | 

“But now I will beg of you one more favor, j 
Carry all these things, just as they are, to the ' 
room of my son, Mr. PhUip Bampfylde.” j 

At first I was so taken aback that I could only i 
gaze at him. And then I began to think, and ■ 
to see the reason of his asking it. I 

“I have asked you to do a strange thing, good : 
I 


Da-sud ; if it is an unpleasant one, say so in your 
blunt sailor’s fashion.” 

“Your honor,” I answered, with all the deli- 
cacy of rfny nature upwards, “say not another 
w'ord. I will do it.” 

For truly to speak it, if any thing had been oft- 
en a grief and a care to me, it was the bitterness 
of thinking of that Squire Philip deeply, and not 
knowing any thing. The general bowed to me 
with a kindness none could take advantage of, 
and signalled me to collect my burden. Tlien he 
appointed me how to go, together with a very old 
and long -accustomed servitor. Himself would 
not come near his son, for fear of triumph over 
him. 

After a long bit of tapping, and whispering, 
and the mystery servants always love to make of 
the simplest orders, I was shown, with my anns 
well aching (for those wooden dolls were no joke, 
and the captain’s hat weighed a stone at least, 
w’ith all the sand in the lining), into a dark room 
softly stre^^^^, and hung with ancient damask. 
The light of the evening was shut out, and the 
failure of the candles made it seem a cloudy star- 
light. Only in the farthest comer there was light 
enough to see by ; and there sat, at a very old 
desk, a white-hair^ man with his hat on. 

If I can say one thing truly (while I am striv- 
ing at every line to tell the downright honesty), 
this truth is that my bones and fibres now grew 
cold inside of me. There was about this man, 
so placed, and with the dimness round him, such 
an air of difference from whatever we can rea- 
son wnth, and of far withdraw’al from the ways of 
human nature, as must send a dismal shudder 
through a genial soul like mine. There he sat, 
and there he spent three parts of his time with 
his hat on, gazing at some old gray tokens of a 
happy period, but (so far as could be judged) hop- 
ing, fearing, doing, thinking, even dreaming — 
nothing ! He would not allow any clock or watch, 
or other record of time in the chamber; he would 
not read or be read to ; neither write or receive 
a letter. There he sat, with one hand on his 
forehead pushing back the old dusty hat, with his 
w'hite hair straggling under it and even below the 
gaunt shoulder-blades, his face set a little on one 
side, without any kind of meaning in it, unless it 
were long weariness, and patient waiting God’s 
time of death. I was told that once a day, when- 
ever the sun was going down over the bar, in 
winter or summer, in wet or dry, this unfortunate 
man arose, as if he knew the time by instinct with- 
out view of heaven, and drew the velvet curtain 
back and flung the shutter open, and for a mo- 
ment stood and gazed with sorrow-worn yet tear- 
less eyes upon the solemn hills and woods, and 
down the gliding of the river, following the pen- 
sive footfall of another receding day. Then with 
a deep sigh he retired from all chance of starlight, 
darkening body, mind, and soul, until another 
sunset. 

Upon the better side of my heart I could feel 
true pity for a man overwhelmed like this by for- 
tune, while my strength of mind was vexed to see 
him carry on so. Therefore straight I marched 
up to him, when I began to recover myself, hav- 
ing found no better way of getting through per- 
plexity. 

As *my footsteps sounded heavily in the gloomy 
chamber, Squire Philip turned, and gazed at first 
with cold displeasure and then with strong amaze- 


130 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


Tnetit at me. I waited for him to begin, but he 
could not, whether from surprise or loss of readi- 
ness through long immurement. 

“ May it please your honor,” I said ; V the gen- 
eral has sent me hither to clear my captain from 
the charge of burying your honor’s children.” 

“What — what do you mean?” was all that he 
could stammer forth, while his glassy eyes were 
roving from my face to the dolls I bore, and round 
the room, and then back again. 

“Exactly as I say, your honor. These are 
what the wild man took for your two children 
in Braunton Burrows ; and here is the captain’s 
cocked hat, which some one stole to counterfeit 
him. The whole thing was a vile artifice, a de- 
lusion, cheat, and mockery.” 

I need not repeat how I set this before him, 
but only his mode of receiving it. At first he 
seemed wholly confused and stunned, pressing his 
head with both hands, and looking as if he knew 
not where he was. Then he began to enter slow- 
ly into what I was telling him, but without the 
l)ower to see its bearing, or judge how to take it. 
He examined the dolls, and patted them, and 
added them to a whole school which he kept, with 
two candles burning before them. And then he 
said, “They have long been missing: right glad 
am I to recover them.” 

Then for a long time he sat in silence, and in 
his former attitude, quite as if his mind relapsed 
into its old condition : and verily I began to think 
that the only result of my discovery, so far as 
concerned poor Squire Philip, w'ould be a small 
addition to his gallery of dolls. HoAvever, after a 
while he turned round, and cried, with a piercing 
gaze at me, 

“ Mariner, wdioever you are, I do not believe 
one word of your tale. The hat is as new and 
the dolls are as fresh as if they were buried yes- 
terday. And I take that to be the truth of it. 
How many years have I been here ? I know not. 
Bring me a looking-glass.” 

He pointed to a small mirror which stood among 
his precious relics. Being mounted with silver 
and tortoise-shell, this had been (as they told me 
afterward) the favorite toy of his handsome wife. 
When I handed him this, he took off" his hat, and 
shook his white hair back, and gazed earnestly, 
but without any sorrow, at his mournful image. 
“Twenty years at least,” he pronounced it, in a 
clear, decided voice ; “ twenty years it must have 
taken to have made me what I am. Would twen- 
ty years in a dripping sand-hill leave a smart 
gentleman’s laced hat and a poor little baby’s 
dolls as fresh and bright as the day they were 
buried ? Old mariner, I am sorry that you should 
lend yourself to such devices. But perhaps you 
thought it right.” 

This, although so much perverted, made me 
think of his father’s goodness and kind faith in 
every one. And I saw that here was no place 
now for any sort of argument. 

“Your honor is altogether Avrong,” I answered, 
A’ery gently : “ the matter could have been, at the 
utmost, scarcely more than eight years ago, ac- 
cording to what they tell me. And if you can 
suppose that a man of my rank and age and serv- 
ice would lend himself to mean devices, there 
are at least thirty of your retainers and of honest 
neighbors who have seen the whole thing, and 
can swear to its straightforwardness. And your 
honor, of course, knows ever}' thing a thousand 


times better than I do ; but of sand, and how it 
keeps things everlasting (so long as dry), yoin* 
honor seems, if I may say it, to have no experi- 
ence.” 

He did not take the trouble to answ'er, but fell 
back into his old way of sitting, as if there was 
nothing worth argument. 

People say that every man is like his father in 
many Avays ; but the first resemblance that I per- 
ceived between Sir Philip and his elder son A\'as, 
that the squire arose and boAved Avith courtesy as 
I departed. Upon the Avhole, this undertaking 
proved a disappointment to me. And it matter- 
ed a hundred-fold as much that our noble general 
Avas not only vexed, but angered more than one 
could hope of him. Having been treated a little 
amiss, I trusted that Sir Philip Avould contribute 
to my self-respect by also feeling angry. Still, I 
did not desire more than just enough to support 
me, or at the utmost to overlap me, and give me 
the sense of acting aright by Aurtue of appeasing 
him. But on the present occasion he shoAved so 
large and cloudy a shape of anger, Avholly Avith- 
drawn from my sight (as happens Avith the Peak 
of Teneriflre) — also, he so clearly longed to be left 
alone and meditate, that I had no chance to ofi'er 
him more than three opinions. All these Avere 
of genuine A'alue at the time of offering, and must 
have continued so to be if the facts liad not be- 
lied them. AlloAving for this adA^erse vieAv, I Avill 
not even state them. 

Nevertheless I had the warmest inAutation to 
abide, and be Avelcome to the best that turned 
upon any of all the four great spits, or simmered 
and lifted the pot-lids suddenly for a puff of fine 
smell to come out in advance. To a man of less 
patriotic feeling this might thus haA'e commended 
itself. But to my mind there Avas nothing Ausible 
in these hills and valleys, and their sloping toAvards 
the sea, Avhich could make a true Welshman doubt 
the priority of Welshland. For Avith us the sun 
is better, and the air moA'es less in creases, and 
the sea has more of rapid gayety in breaking. 
The others may have higher cliffs, or deeper val- 
leys doAvn them ; also (if they hke to think so) 
darker Avoods for robbers’ nests — but our oAvn 
land has a SAveetness, and a gentle liking for us, 
and a motherly pleasure in its face Avhen A\’e come 
home to it, such as no other land may claim — 
according to my experience. 

These AA’ere my sentiments as I climbed, upon 
the ensuing Sunday, a lofty hill near the Ilfra- 
combe Road, commanding a vicAV of the Bristol 
Channel and the Welsh coast beyond it. The day 
Avas so clear that I could folloAV the stretches and 
curves of my native shore, from the Ioav lands of 
GoAver aAvay in the Avest through the sandy ridges 
of AberaA'on and the gray rocks of Sker and Porth- 
caAvl, as far as the eastern cliffs of Dunraven and 
the fading bend of St. Donat’s. The sea betAA'een 
us looked so calm, and softly touched Avith shaded 
lights and gentle A'ariations, also in unruffled beau- 
ty so fostering and bene\'olent, that the white- 
sailed coasters seemed to be babies fast asleep on 
their mother’s lap. “ How long is this mere riv- 
er to keep me from my people at home ?” I cried : 
“it looks as if one could j ump it almost ! A child 
in a cockle-shell could cross it.” 

At these Avords of my OAvn, a sudden thought, 
Avhich had never occurred before, struck me so 
that my brain seemed to buzz. But presently 
reason came to my aid, and I said, “No, no — it 


THE MAID 

is out of the question ; without even a thread of 
sail ! I must not let these clods laugh at me for 
such a wild idea. And the name in the stern of 
the boat as well, downright Santa Lucia ! Chovvne 
must have drowned those two poor children, and 
then rehearsed this farce of a burial with the cap- 
tain’s hat on, to enable his man to swear truly to 
it. Tush ! I am not in my dotage yet. I can see 
the force of every thing.” 


CHAPTER L. 

A BRAVE MAN RUNS AWAY. 

It may be the powder of honesty, or it may be 
strength of character coupled with a more than 
usual brightness of sagacity; but whatever the 
cause may be, the result seems always to be the 
same, in spite of inborn humility — to wdt, that 
poor old Davy Llewellyn, wherever his ups and 
downs may throw him, always has to take the 
lead ! This necessity, as usual, seemed to be aris- 
ing now at Narnton Court — the very last place in 
the world where one could have desired it. Since 
the present grand war began (with the finest prom- 
ise of lasting, because nobody knows any cause 
for it, so that it must bo a law of nature), I have 
not found much occasion to dwell upon common 
inland incidents. These are in nature so far be- 
low all maritime proceedings, that a sailor is 
tempted to forget such trifles as people are doing 
ashore. 

Even upon Holy Scripture (since the stirring 
times began for me henceforth to chronicle), it 
has not been my good luck to be able to sit and 
think of any thing. Nevertheless, I am almost 
sure that it must have been an active man of the 
name of Nehemiah who drew for his rations ev- 
ery day one fat ox, and six choice sheep, and 
fowls of order various. All of these might I have 
claimed, if my capacity had been equal to this 
great occasion. Hence it may be well supposed 
that the kitchen was my favorite place whenever 
I deigned to enter into converse with the servants. 
At first the head cook was a little shy ; but I put 
her soon at her ease by describing (from my vast 
breadth of experience) the proper manner to truss 
and roast a man — and, still better, a woman. 
The knowledge I displayed upon a thing so far 
above her level, coupled with my tales of what 
we sailors did in consequence, led this excellent 
creature so to appreciate my character, and thirst 
for more of my narratives, that I never could 
come amiss, even at dishing-up time. 

But here I fell into a snare, as every seaman is 
sure to do when he relaxes his mind too much in 
the charms of female society. Not concerning 
the cook herself — for I gave her to understand at 
the outset that I w'as not a marrying man, and 
she (possessing a husband somewhere) resolved 
not to hanker after me — but by means of a fair 
young maid, newly apprenticed to our head cook, 
although of a loftier origin. More than once, 
w'hile telling my stories, I had obtained a little 
glimpse of long bright ringlets flashing and of 
shy young eyes just peeping through the hatch of 
the scullery- door, where the huckaback towel 
hung down from the roller. And then, on de- 
tection, there used to ensue a very quick fumbling 
of small red hands, as if being dried with a des- 


OF SKER. 131 

perate haste in the old jack-towel, and then a 
short sigh, and light feet retiring. 

When this had happened for three or four 
times, I gave my head cook a sudden wink, and 
sprang through the scullery-door and caught the 
little red hands in the fold of the towel, and brought 
forth the owner, in spite of deep blushes, and even 
a little scream or two. Then I placed her in a 
chair behind the jack-chains, and continued my 
harrowing description of the w'ay I was larded for 
roasting once by a score of unclothed Gabooners. 
Also, how the skewers of bar-wood thrust in to 
make me of a good rich color, when I should 
come to table, had not that tenacity which our 
English wood is gifted with ; so that I was en- 
abled to shake (after praying to God for assist- 
ance) my right arm out, and then my left ; and 
after clapping both together (to restore circula- 
tion), it came providentially into my head to lay 
hold of the spit and charge them. And then en- 
sued such a scene as I could not even think of 
laying before young and delicate females. 

This young girl, whose name was “Polly,” 
always (at this pitch of terror) not only shivered 
but shuddered so, and needed support for her 
figure beyond the power of stays to communicate, 
also let such tears begin to betray themselves and 
then retreat, and then come out and defy the 
world, with a brave sob at their back almost, 
that I do not exaggerate in saying how many 
times I had the pleasure of roasting myself for 
the sake of them. 

How'ever, it always does turn out that pleasures 
of this sort are transient ; and I could not have 
been going on with Polly m.ore than ten days at 
the utmost, when I found myself in a rare scrape, 
to be sure. And this was the worse, because Sir 
Philip so strongly desired ray presence now, per- 
haps in the vain hope of my convincing that ob- 
stinate squire of his brother’s innocence, when 
that brother should return. 

Now I need not have spoken as yet of Miss 
Polly if she had been but a common servant, be- 
cause in that case her peace of mind would have 
been of no consequence to the household. But, 
as it happened, she was a person of no small im- 
portance, by reason of the very lofty nature of 
her connections ; for she was no less than genu- 
ine niece to the lady-housekeepei', ]\Irs. Cock- 
hanterbury herself. And hence she became the 
innocent cause of my departure from Narnton 
Court before I had time to begin my inquiries 
about the two poor little children. For this I 
had made up my mind to do, as soon as that 
strange idea had crossed it, while I was gazing 
upon the sea ; and my meaning was to go through 
all the traces that might still be found of them, 
and the mode of their disappearance. It is true 
that this resolve was weakened by a tempest which 
arose that very same evening after the Channel 
had looked so insignificant, and which might have 
been expected after that appearance. Neverthe- 
less, I must have proceeded according to my in- 
tention, if my heart had not been too much for 
me in the matter of Polly Cockhanterbuiy. Be- 
ing just now in my sixtieth year, I could not prove 
such a coxcomb, of course, as to imagine that a 
pretty girl of two-and-twenty could care for me, 
so that no course remained open to me as an 
honorable man and gallant British officer, who 
studies his own peace of mind, except to with- 
draw from the neighborhood. And in this reso- 


132 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


lution I was confirmed by Mrs. Cockhanterbmy’s 
reluctance to declare in a binding manner her in- 
tentions towards her niece ; also by finding that, 
somehow or other, the whole of the ground-fioor 
at Narnton Court had taken it into their heads 
to regard me as a man of desirable substance. It 
is possible that in larger moments, when other 
people were boasting, I may have insisted a little 
too much upon my position as land-owner in the 
parish of Newton Nottage ; also I may have de- 
scribed too warmly my patronage of the school- 
master, and investment of cash with a view to 
encourage the literature of the parish. But I 
never could have said — what all of them deposed 
to — such a very strong untruth, as to convey the 
conclusion (even to a Devonshire state of mind), 
that Colonel Lougher and I divided the whole of 
the parish between us ! 

Be that as it may, there was not any maid over 
thirty who failed to set her cap at me, and my 
silver hair was quite restored to a youthful tinge 
of gold. Hence I was horrified at the thought 
that Polly might even consent to have me for the 
sake of my property, and, upon discovering its 
poetical existence, lead me a perfectly Avretched 
life, as bad as that of poor Heaviside. So that, 
in spite of all attractions, and really serious busi- 
ness, and the important duty of awaiting the cap- 
tain's return from Pomeroy Castle, and even in 
spite of Jerry Toms’s offer to take Polly off my 
hands — as if she would say a word to him ! — and 
all the adjurations of poor HeaA*iside, who had de- 
fied his wife (all the time I was thei'e to back him 
up), and now must have to pay out for it — what 
did I do but agi-ee to doff my uniform, and work 
my passage on board the Majestic, a fore-and- 
aft-rigged limestone boat of forty-eight tons and 
a half? Of course she was bound on the usual 
business of stealing the good Colonel Lougher’s 
rocks, but I distinctly stipulated to have nothing 
to do with that. 

IMy popularity now Avas such with all ranks of 
society, also I found myself pledged for so many 
stories that same evening, that I imparted to none 
except Sir Philip, and Polly, and Jerry Toms, 
and Heaviside, and one or tAvo more, the scheme 
of my sudden departure. My mind was on the 
point of changing Avhen I beheld SAveet Polly’s 
tears, until I felt that I must behaA-e, at my time 
of life, as her father AA'ould ; because she had no 
father. 

When I brought the Majestic into shalloAv Ava- 
ter off the Tuskar, every inch of which I kncAv, 
it AA^as no small comfort to me that I could not 
see the shore. For years I had longed to see 
that shore, and dreamed of it perpetually, Avhile 
tossing ten thousand miles aAvay ; and noAV I Avas 
glad to have it coA^ered AAuth the tAvilight foggi- 
ness. It suited me better to land at night, only 
because my landing Avould not be such as I was 
entitled to. And CA'ery one knows hoAV the naA’y 
and army drop in public estimation Avhen the 
wars seem to he done Avith. Therefore I expect- 
ed little, and I gi\’e you my Avord that I got still 
less. 

It may have been over elcA’en o’clock, but at 
at any rate nothing to call very late, just at the 
crest of the summer-time, Avhen I gave three good 
strong raps at the door of my oaati cottage, knoAv- 
ing exactly AA'here the knots AA'ere. I had not met 
a single soul to know me or to speak my name, 
although the moon Avas a quarter old, and I found 


a broken spar, and bore it as I used to bear my 
fishing-pole. No man wlio has not been long 
a-roving can understand all the fluttering AA'ays 
of a man’s heart when he comes home again. 
Hoav he looks at CA'ery one of all the old houses 
he knows so Avell; at first as if he feared it for 
having another piece built on, or grander people 
inside of it. And then, upon finding this fear 
A'ain, he is almost ready to beg its pardon for not 
having looked at it such a long time. It is not 
in him to say a Avord to, or even about, the chil- 
dren coming out thus to stare at him. All the 
children he used to knoAv are gone to day’s Avork 
long ago, and the ncAv ones AA^ould scarcely trust 
him so as to suck a foreign lollipop. He knoAvs 
them by their mothers, but he can not use their 
names to them. 

There is nothing solid dAvelling for a poor 
man long aAA'ay, except the big trees that lay hold 
upon the ground in earnest, and the tombstones 
keeping up his right to the parish church-yard. 
Along the Avail of this I glanced, Avith joy to keep 
outside of it, Avhile I struck, for the third time 
strongly, at not being let into mine own house. 

At last a Aveak and faltering step sounded in 
my little room, and then a Aoice came through 
the latch -hole, “Man of noise, hoAv dare you 
thus? you Avill Avake up our young lady.” 

“Master Roger, let me in. KnoAv you not 
your OAvn landlord?” The learned school-master 
was so astonished that he could scarcely draAv 
back the bolt. “Is it so? Is it so, indeed? I 
thank the Lord for sending thee,” \A-as all he could 
say, while he stood there shaking both my hands 
to the A'ery utmost that his slender palms could 
compass. 

“Friend LleAvellyn,” he Avhispered at last, “I 
beg thy pardon heartily for liaAung been so rude 
to thee. But it is such a business to hush the 
young lady ; and if she once Avakes she talks all 
the night long. I fear that her mind is almost 
too active for a maid of her tender years.” 

“ What young lady do you mean ?” I asked j 
“ is Bunny become a young lady noAv ?” 

“Bunny!” he cried, Avith no small contempt ; 
then perceiA’ing how rude this Avas to me, began 
casting about for apologies. 

“ NeA’er mind that,” I said ; “only tell me Avho 
this wonderful young lady is.” 

“Miss Andalusia, the ‘Maid of Sker,’ as ca"- 
ery one noAv begins to call her. There is no oth- 
er young lady in the neighborhood, to mv knowl- 
edge.” 

“Nor in the Avhole AAwld for you, I should 
say, by the look of your eyes. Master Roger 
Berkrolles. NeA^ertheless, put your coat on, my 
friend, and gh^e your old landlord a bit to eat. 1 
troAv that the Avhole of my house does not belong 
even to Miss Delushy. HaA’e I not even a grand- 
daughter?” 

“ To be sure, and a very fine damsel she is, ay, 
and a good and comely one ; though she hath no 
turn for emdition. What Ave should do without 
Bunny, I kuoAv not. She is a most rare young 
liouseAA'ife.” 

The tears sprang into my eyes at this, as I 
thought of her poor grandmother, and I gave 
Master Berkrolles’s hand a squeeze Avhich brought 
some into his as Avell. 

“Let me see her,”Avas all I said; “it is not 
easy to break her rest, unless she is greatly al- 
tered.” 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


133 


“ She is not in bed ; she is singing her young 
friend to sleep. I will call her presently.” 

This was rather more, however, than even my 
patience could endure : so I went quietly up the 
stairs, and, pushing the door of the best room 
gently, there I heard a pretty voice, and saw a 
very pretty sight. In a little bed, which seemed 
almost to shine with cleanliness, there lay a young 
girl fast asleep, but lying in such a way that none 
who had ever seen could doubt of her ; that is to 
say, with one knee up, and the foot of the other 
leg thrown back, and showing through the bed- 
clothes as if she were running a race in sleep ; 
and yet with the back laid flat, and sinking into 
the pillow deeply, while a pair of little restless 
arms came out and strayed on the coverlet. Her 
full and lively red lips were parted, as if she 
wanted to have a snore ; also her little nose well 
up, and the rounding of the tender cheeks un- 
trimmed to the maiden oval. Down upon these 
dai'k lashes hung, fluttering with the pulse of 
sleep ; while heavy clusters of curly hair, dishev- 
eled upon the pillow, framed the gentle curve of 
the forehead and smiling daintiness of the whole. 

Near this delicate creature sat, in a bending at- 
titude of protection, a strong and well-made girl, 
with black hair, jet-black eyes, and a rosy color 
spread upon a round, plump face. She was smil- 
ing as she watched the etfect of an old Welsh air 
which she had been singing — “ through the live- 
long night.” To look at her size and figure, you 
would say that her age Avas fourteen at least ; but 
I knew that she was but twelve years old, as she 
happened to be our Bunny. 

You may suppose that this child was amazed 
to see her old Granny again once more, and hard- 
ly able to recognize him, except by his voice, and 
eyes, and manner, and a sort of way about him 
such as only relations have. For really, if I must 
tell the truth, the gi*eat roundness of the world had 
taken such a strong elfect upon me, that I had not 
been able to manage one straight line towards 
Newton Nottage for something over six years 
now. Perhaps I have said that the Admiralty 
did not encourage our correspondence, and most 
of us were veiy well content to allow our dear 
friends to think of us ; so that by my pay alone 
could my native parish argue whether I were alive 
or dead. 

It would not become me to enter into the pub- 
lic rejoicing upon the morrow, after my well-ac- 
customed face was proved to be genuine at the 
“Jolly.” The^e are moments that pass our very 
clearest perception,. and judgment, and even our 
strength, to go thuohgh them again. And it was 
too early yet — except for a man from low lati- 
tudes — to call for rum-and-water. The whole of 
this I let them know, Avhile capable of receiA- 
ing it. 

CHAPTER LI. 

TRIPLE EDUCATION. 

Master Roger Berkrolles had proved him- 
self a school-master of the very dryest honesty. 
This expression, upon after-thought, I beg to use 
expressly. My OAvn honesty is of a truly unusual 
and choice character ; and I have not found, say a 
dozen men, fit anyhoAV to approach it. But there 
is always a sense of humor, and a view of honor, 
Avagging in among my principles, to such an ex- 


tent that they never get diy, as the multiplication 
table does. Master Berkrolles Avas a man of too 
much mind for joking. 

Therefore, upon the very first morning after my 
return, and even before our breakfast- time, he 
poured me out such a lot of coin as I never did 
hope to see, himself regarding them as no more 
than so many shells of the sea to count. All 
these he had saved from my pay in a manner 
Avholly beyond my imagination, because, though 
I loA’e to make money of people, I soon let them 
make it of me again. And this Avas my instinct 
now ; but Roger laid his thin hand on the heap 
most graA'ely, and through his spectacles Avatched 
me softly, so that I could not be Avroth Avith him. 

“Friend LleAvellyn, I crave your pardon. All 
this money is laAA'fully yours j neither have I or 
any body the right to meddle with it. But I beg 
you to consider Avhat occasions may arise for some 
of these coins hereafter. Also, if it should please 
the Lord to call me away while you are at sea, 
Avhat might become of the dear child Bunny, Avith- 
out this mammon to procure her friends ? Would 
you have her, like poor Andalusia, dependent upon 
charity ?” 

“Hush!” I whispered; too late, hoAveA’er, for 
there stood Bardie herself, a slim, light-footed, 
and graceful child, about ten years old just then, 
I think. Her dress of slate-colored stutf was the 
very plainest of the plain, and made by hands 
more familiar Avith the needle than the scissors. 
No ornament, or even change of color, Avas she 
decked with, not so much as a white crimped frill 
for the fringes of hair to dance upon. No child 
that came to the Avell (so long as she possessed a 
mother) ever happened to be dressed in this deny- 
ing manner. But tAvo girls blessed with good 
stepmothers, having children of their own, Avere 
indued, as Avas knoAvn already, with dresses cut 
from the self-same remnant. Now, as she looked 
at Roger Berkrolles Avith a steadfast Avonder, not 
appearing for the moment to remember me at all, 
a deep spring of indefinite sadness filled her dark 
gray eyes with tears. 

“Charity!” she said at last: “if you please, 
sir, what is charity?” 

“Charity, my dear, is kindness; the natural 
kindness of good people.” 

“Is it what begins at home, sir ; as they say in 
the copy-books ?” 

“Yes, my dear; but it neA'er stops there. It 
is a most beautiful thing. It does good to eveiy 
body. You heard me say, my dear child, that 
you are dependent on charity. It is through no 
fault of your own, remember; but by the Avill of 
God. You need not be ashamed to depend on 
the kindness of good people.” 

Her eyes shone for a moment with bright grat- 
itude towards him for reconciling her Avith her 
pride ; and then, being shy at my presence per- 
haps, she tunied aAvay, just as she used to do, 
and said to herself very softly, “I would rather 
have a home, though — I Avould rather have a 
home, and a father and mother of my OAvn, in- 
stead of beautiful charity.” 

Master Berkrolles told me, Avhen she was gone, 
that many children of the place had no better 
manners than to be ahvays shouting after her, 
when coming back from the sand-hills, “ Where’s 
your father? Where’s your mother? Where’s 
your home, Delushy?” This, of course, Avas 
gi*ievous to her, and should never have been done; 


134 


THE IVIAID OF SKER. 


and I let Roger know that his business was to 
stop any scandal of this kind. But he declared 
that really the whole of his mind was taken up, 
and much of his body also, in maintaining rule 
and reason through the proper hours. After 
school-time it was not the place of the school- 
master, but of the parson of the parisli, or by 
deputy church- wardens, or, failing them, the clerk, 
and (if he were out of the w'ay) the sexton, to 
impress a certain tone of duty on the young ones. 
Especially the sexton need not even call his wife 
to help, if he would but have the wit to cultivate 
more young thoughtfulness, by digging a grave 
every other day, and trusting the Lord for or- 
ders. 

It was not long before Delushy learned some 
memory of me, partly with the aid of Bunny, 
partly through the ship I made — such as no oth- 
er man could turn out — partly through my uni- 
fonn, and the rest of it by means of goodness 
only can tell what. A man who is knocked about 
all over rounds, and flats, and sides of mountains, 
also kicked into and out of eveiy hole and cor- 
ner, and the strong and weak places of the earth, 
and upset, after all, the most by his fellow-crea- 
tures’ doings, although he may have started with 
more principle than was good for him, comes 
home, in the end, to look at results far more than 
causes. 

This was exactly mine own case. I can hard- 
ly state it more clearly. I wanted no praise from 
any body, because I felt it due to me. A fellow 
who doubts about himself may value approbation ; 
and such w’as the case with me, perhaps, while 
misunderstood by the magistrates. But now all 
the money which I had saved, under stewardship 
of Berkrolles, enabled all my household to stand 
up and challenge calumny. 

There is a depth of tender feeling in the hearts 
of Welshmen such as can not anywhere else be 
discovered by a Welshman. Heartily we love to 
find man or woman of our own kin (even at the 
utmost nip of the calipers of pedigree) doing any 
thing which reflects a spark of glory on us. Of 
this man, or w'oman even, we make all the very 
utmost, to the extremest point where truth as- 
suages patriotism. The whole of our neighbor- 
hood took this matter from a proper point of view, 
and sent me such an invitation to a public din- 
ner, that I was obliged to show them all the cor- 
ners of the road, when the stupid fellows thought 
it safer to conduct me home again. 

Upon that festive occasion, also, Sandy Macraw 
took a great deal too much, so entirely in honor 
of me that I felt the deepest good-will towards him 
before the evening was over, even going so far, it 
appears, as to discharge him from all back rent 
for the use of my little frigate. I certainly could 
not remember such an excess of generosity upon 
the following morning, until he pulled off his hat 
and showed me the following document inscribed 
with a pencil on the lining: “Dearest and best 
of friends — After the glorious tribute paid by the 
generous Scotchman to the humble but warm- 
hearted Cambrian, the latter would be below con- 
tempt if he took a penny from him. Signed 
David Llewellyn ; witness, Rees Hopkins, 
chairman, his mark.” After this, and the pub- 
lic manner of my execution, there was nothing 
to be said, except that Sandy Macraw ■was below 
contempt for turning to inferior use the flow of 
our finest feelings. Therefore I went, with some 1 


indignation, to resume possession of my poor boat, 
which might as w'ell have been Sandy’s own dur- 
ing the last five years and more. However, I 
could not deny that the Scotchman had kept his 
part of the contract well, for my boat w^as beauti- 
fully clean and in excellent repair ; in a w’ord, as 
good as new almost. So I put Miss Delushy on 
board of her, with Bunny for the lady’s maid, and 
finding a strong ebb under us, I paddled away 
towards Sker, and landed bravely at Fool Tavan. 

For poor Black Evan lay now in our church- 
yard by the side of his five bold sons, having be- 
held the white horse as plainly as any of the cor- 
oner’s jury. The reason was clear enough to all 
who knew any thing of medicine — to wit, his un- 
wise and pernicious step in prostituting his con- 
stitution to the use of water. If any unfortunate 
man is harassed with such "tt'ant of self-respect, 
and utter distrust of Providence, as well as un- 
pleasancy of behavior towards all ivorthy neigh- 
bors, and black ingratitude to his life, as to make 
a vow forever never to drink any good stuff again, 
that man must be pitied largely ; but let no one 
speak harshly of him because he must so soon be 
dead. And this in half the needful time, if for- 
merly he went on too much. 

Poor Moxy now, with young Watkin only, car- 
ried on this desert farm. It was said that no 
farmer, ever since the Abbots were turned out, 
could contrive to get on at Sker. One after the 
other failed to get a return for the money sunk 
into the desolate, sandy soil. Black Evan’s father 
took the place with a quarter of a bushel heaped 
with golden guineas of Queen Anne. And very 
bravely he began, but nothing ever came of it, ex- 
cept that he hanged himself at last, and left his 
son to go on with it. What chance was there 
now for Moxy, with no money, and one son only, 
and a far better heart than head ? 

Nevertheless, she w’ould not hear for one mo- 
ment of such a thing as giving up Delush3L This 
little maid had a way of her own of winding her- 
self into people’s hearts, given to her by the Lord 
himself, to make up for hard dealings. Moxy 
loved her almost as much as her own son Wat- 
kin, and was brought with the greatest trouble to 
consent to lose her often, for the sake of learning. 
Because there never could be at Sker the smallest 
chance of growing strongly into education. And 
every body felt that Bardie w'as of a birth and na- 
ture such as demanded this thing highly. How- 
ever, even this public sentiment might have end- 
ed in talk alone, if Lady J|||||[phad not borne 
in mind her solemn pledg^^^E. Roger Ber- 
krolles would have done his bl^of course, to see 
to it ; but his authority in the parish hung for a 
while upon female tongues, which forced him to 
be most cautious. So that I, though seven years 
absent, am beyond doubt entitled to the credit of 
this child’s scholarship. I had seen the very be- 
ginning of it, as I must have said long ago, but 
what was that compared with all that happened 
in my absence ? Berkrolles w^as a mighty schol- 
ar (knowing every book almost that ever in rea- 
son ought to have been indited, or indicted), and 
his calm opinion was, that “he never had led into 
letters such a mind as Bardie’s.” 

She learned more in a "week almost than all 
the rising generation sucked in for the quarter. 
Not a bit of milching knowledge could he gently 
ofier her, ere she dragged the whole of it out of 
his crop, hke a young pigeon feeduig. And some- 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


135 


times she would put such questions that he could 
do nothing more than cover both his eyes up. 

All such things are well enough for people 
who forget how much the body does outweigh 
the mind, being meant, of course, to do so, get- 
ting more food, as it does, and able to enjoy it 
more, by reason of less daintiness. But for my 
part, I have always found it human prudence to 
prevent the mind, or soul, or other parts invisi- 
ble, from conspiracy to outgo what I can see, and 
feel, and manage, and be punished for not heeding 
— that is to say, my body. 

Now the plan arranged for Bardie was the 
most perfect that could be imagined, springing 
from the will of Providence, and therefore far 
superior to any human invention. Master Ber- 
krolles told me that a human being may be sup- 
posed to consist principally of three parts — the 
body, which is chiefly water (this I could not 
bear to hear of, unless it were salt-water, which 
he said might be the case with me); the mind, 
which may be formed of air, if it is formed of 
any thing ; and the soul, which is strong spirit, 
and for that reason keeps the longest. Accord- 
ingly, this homeless maiden’s time was so divided 
that her three parts were provided for, one after 
other, most beautifully. She made her rounds, 
with her little bag, from Sker to Candleston 
Court, and thence to Master Berkrolles at my 
cottage, and back again to Sker, when Moxy could 
not do without her. She would spend, perhaps, a 
fortnight at Candleston, then a fortnight at New- 
ton village, and after that a month at Sker, more 
or less, as might be, according to the weather and 
the chances of conveyance. At Candleston, of 
course, she got the best of bodily food as well ; 
but Lady Bluett made a point of attending espe- 
cially to her soul, not in a sanctimonious way, but 
concerning grace, and manners, and the love of 
music, and the handling of a knife and fork, and 
all the thousand little things depending on that 
part of us. And here she was made a most per- 
fect pet, and wore very beautiful clothes, and so 
on ; but left them all behind, and went as plain 
as a nun to Newton, as soon as the time arrived 
for giving her mind its proper training. Now 
when her mind was ready to burst with the piles 
of learning stored in it, and she could not sleep 
at night without being hushed by means of sing- 
ing, Moxy would come from Sker to fetch her, 
and scold both the master and Bunny well for 
the paleness o^De^hy’s face, and end by beg- 
ging their pariH|M bearing the child away tri- 
umphantly, wil^^^itKin to carry the bag for her. 
And then for ^month there was play, and sea- 
air, and rocks to climb over, and sand-hills, and 
rabbits and wild-fowl to watch by the hour, and 
bathing throughout the summer-time, and noth- 
ing but very plain food at regular intervals of fine 
appetite. 

So the overactive mind sank back to its due re- 
pose, and the tender cheeks recovered, with kind 
Nature’s nursing, all the bloom the flowers have, 
because they think of nothing. Also the light- 
some feel returned, and the native grace of move- 
ment, and the enjoyment of good runs, and laugh- 
ter unrepressed, but made harmonious by disci- 
pline. And then the hair came into gloss, and 
the eyes to depths of brightness, and all the mys- 
teries of wisdom soon were tickled out of her. 

This was the life she had been leading now for 
some six years or more ; and being of a happy 


nature, she was quite contented. In the boat I 
did my utmost that day to examine her as to all 
her recollections of her early history. But she 
seemed to dwell upon nothing now except the 
most trifling incidents, such as a crab lifting up 
the cover one day when Old Davy was boiling 
him, or “Dutch” being found with a lot of small 
I Dutches, and nobody knew where they came from. 
She had no recollection of any boat, or even a 
coroner’s inquest ; and as to papa, and mamma, 
and brother — she put her hand up to her beau- 
tiful forehead to think, and then wondered about 
them. Having cleverly brought you thus to a 
proper acquaintance with the present situation, I 
really think that you must excuse me from going 
into all Moxy’s transports called forth by the 
sight of me. In spite of all that I ahvays say in 
depreciation of myself (ay, and often mean it 
too), nobody can have failed to gather that my 
countiymen at large, and (which matters more) 
my countrywomen, take a most kind view of me. 
And it would have been hard, indeed, if Moxy 
could not find a tear or two. And Watkin now' 
was a fine young fellow, turned of twenty some 
time ago, straight as an arrow', and swift as a bird, 
but shy as a trout in a mountain stream. From 
a humble distance he admired Miss Delushy pro- 
foundly, and w'as ever at her beck and call; so 
that of course she liked him much, but entertain- 
ed a feminine contempt for such a fellow. 

■ ■ '■ 

CHAPTER LII. 

GREAT MARCH OF INTELLECT. 

Now I come to larger actions, and the rise of 
great events, and the movements of mankind — 
enough to make their mother eartfi tremble, and 
take them for suicides, and even grudge her bo- 
som for their naked burial. Often had I longed 
for w'ar, not from love of slaughter, but because 
' it is so good for us. It calls out the strength of 
! a man from his heart into the swing of his legs 
I and arms, and fills him with his duty to the land 
i that is his mother, and scatters far away small 
things, and show's be3'ond dispute God’s wisdom 
w’hen He made us male and female. The fair 
sex (after long peace) always w'ant to take the 
lead of all, having rash faith in their quicker vigor 
of words and temper. But thej' prove their good- 
ness always, coming down to their -work at once, 
when the blood flows, and the bones are split into 
small splinters, and a man dies bravely in their 
arms, through doing his duty to them. But 
i though war is good, no doubt (till men shall be 
too good for it), there w'as not one man as yet in 
j Great Britain w'ho w'ould have gone of his own 
I accord into the grand and endless war at this 
time impending. Master Roger Berkrolles told 
me that throughout all history (every in and out 
of which he knew, while pretending otherwise) 
never had been known such war, and destruction 
of God’s men, as might now be looked for. He 
said that it was not a question now of nation 
against nation, such as may be fought out and 
done with, after rapid victoiy, neither a piece of 
I mere covetousness for a small advance of domin- 
! ion, nor even a contest of dynasties, which might 
prove the tougher one ; but that it was universal 
clash ; half of mankind imbittered to a deadly 
pitch with the other half ; and that now no peace 


136 


THE MAID OF SI^ER. 


could be, till one side 'U'as crushed under. These 
things were beyond my grasp of widest compre- 
hension, neither could I desire a war begun about 
nothing. If the Frenchmen insulted our flag, or 
wanted back some of their islands, or kept us 
from examining their customs (when imported), 
no tine Briton could hesitate to keep his priming 
ready. 

But at present they were only plucking up cour- 
age to affront us, being engrossed with their own 
looseness, and broad spread of idiocy. For they 
even went the length of declaring all men to be 
equal, the whole world common property, and the 
very names of the months all wrong ! After this 
it was natural, and one might say the only sensi- 
ble thing they ever did, to deny the existence of 
their Maker. For it could hardly be argued that 
the Almighty ever did lay hand to such a lot of 
scoundrels. Now if these rats of the bilge-hole 
had chosen to cock their tails in their dirt, and 
devour one another, pleasure alone need have 
been the feeling of the human race looking down 
at them. But the worst of it was that real men, 
and women, far above them, took up their filthy 
tricks and antics, and their little buck-jumps, and 
allowed their judgment so to be taken with grim- 
aces — even as a man who mocks a fit may fall 
into it — that in every country there were “sym- 
pathizers with the great and glorious march of 
intellect.” 

In Devonshire I had heard none of all this, for 
none of the servants ever set eyes, or desired to 
do so, on “public journals.” They had heard 
of these, but believed them to be very dangerous 
and wicked things ; also devoid of interest, for 
what was the good of knowing things which any 
body else might know ?* And even if they had 
taken trouble ever to hear of the great outbreak, 
they would have replied (until it led to recruiting in 
their own parish), “Thiccy be no consam to we.” 

But in our enlightened neighborhood things 
were very different. There had long been down 
among us ever so many large-minded fellows, anx- 
ious to advance mankind, by great jumps, to- 
wards perfection. And in this they showed their 
wisdom (being all young bachelors) to strive to 
catch the golden age before they got rheumatics. 

However, to men whose life has been touched 
with the proper gray and brown of earth, all these 
bright ideas seemed a baseless dance of rainbows. 
Man’s perfection was a thing we had not found 
in this world ; and being by divine wisdom weaned 
from human pride concerning it, we could be well 
content to wait our inevitable opportunity for 
seeking it in the other world. We had found this 
world wag slowly ; sometimes better, and some- 
times worse, pretty much according to the way in 
which it treated us. Neither had we yet per- 
ceived, in the generation newly breeched, any 
grand advance, but rather a very poor backslid- 
ing, from what we were at their time of life. We 
all like a strong fellow when we see him, and we 
all like a very bright child, who leaps through our 
misty sense of childhood. To either of these an 
average chap knocks under when quite sure of 
it. And yet, in our parish, there was but one of 
the one sort, and one of the other. Bardie, of 
course, of the new generation, and Old Davy of 

* That intelligent view still holds its own. A Dev- 
onshire farmer challenged me, the other day, to prove, 
“ Whatt be the gude of the papper, whan any vule can 
rade un V'— Editor. 


the elder. It vexes me to tell the truth so. But 
how can I help it, unless I spoil my story ? 

Ever so many people got a meeting in the chap- 
el up, to sign a paper, and to say that nobody 
could gi;ess the mischief done by all except them- 
selves. They scouted the French Eevolution as 
the direct work of the devil ; and in the veiy 
next sentence vowed it the work of the seventh 
angel to shatter the Church of England. They 
came with this rubbish for me to sign, and I 
signed it (and some of them also) with my well- 
attested toe and heel. 

After such a demonstration, any man of candid 
mind falls back on himself, to judge if he may 
have been too forcible. But I could not see my 
way to any cross-road of repentance ; and when 
I found what good I had done, I wished that I 
had kicked harder. By doing so, I might have 
quenched a pestilential doctrine — as every ortho- 
dox person told me, when they heard how the 
fellows ran. But — as my bad luck always con- 
quers — I had but a pair of worn-out pumps on, 
and the only toe which a man can trust (through 
his own defects of discipline) happened to be in 
hospital now, and short of spring and flavor. 
Nevertheless some good was done. For Parson 
Lougher not only praised me, but in his generous 
manner provided a new pair of shoes for me, to 
kick harder, if again so visited. And the news 
of these prevented them. 

But even the way these fellows had to rub 
themselves was not enough to stop the spreading 
of low opinions; for the strength of my mani- 
festation was impressive rather than permanent. 
Also all the lower lot of Non-conformists and 
schismatics ran with their tongues out, like mad 
dogs, all over the country, raving, snapping at 
every good gentleman’s heels, and yelping that 
the seventh vial was open, and the seventh seal 
broken. To argue with a gale of wind would 
show more sense than to try discussion with such 
a set of ninnies ; and when I asked them to rec- 
oncile their admiration of ditheism with their re- 
ligions fervor, one of them answered bravely that 
he would rather worship the Goddess of Reason 
than the God of the Church of England. 

However, the followers of John Wesley, and all 
the respectable Methodists, scouted these ribalds 
as much as we did ; and even Hezekiah had the 
sense to find himself going too far with them, and 
to repair the seventh seal, and clap it on Hepzi- 
bah’s mouth. For how could he sell a clock, if 
time was declared by the trump^Hpl be no more ? 

Amidst this universal turm oil* proar, and up- 
heaving, I received a letter from Captain Bamp- 
fylde, very short, and without a word of thanks for 
what I had done for him, but saying that he was 
just appointed to the Bellona, seventy-four, car- 
rying six carronades on the poop ; that she was 
fitting now at Chatham, and in two months’ time 
would be at Spithead, where he was to man her. 
He believed that the greater part of the fine ship’s 
company of the Thetis would be only too glad to 
sail nnder him, and he was enabled to offer me 
the master’s berth, if I saw fit. He said that he 
knew my efficiency, but would not have ventured 
to take this step but for what I had told him about 
my thorough acquirement of navigation under the 
care of a learned man. After saying that if I 
reported myself at Narnton Court by the end of 
October he would have me cared for and sent on, 

1 he concluded with these stirring words : 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


137 


“There is a great war near at hand; our 
country will want every man, young or old, who 
can fight a gun.” v 

These last w'ords fixed my resolve. I had not 
been veiy well treated, perhaps ; at any rate, my 
abilities had not been recognized too highly, lest 
they should have to be paid for with a little hand- 
someness. But a man of large mind allows for 
this, feeling that the world, of course, would glad- 
ly have him at half-price. But when it came to 
talking of the proper style to fight a gun, how 
could I give way to any small considerations? 
Fuzzy and Ike were stealing rock at this partic- 
tdar period in a new ketch called The Devil 
(wholly in honor of Parson Chowne) ; and through 
these worthy fellows, and Bang (now the most 
trustworthy of all), I sent a letter to Namton 
Court accepting the mastership of his majesty’s 
ship of the line Bellona, 

Now every body in earnest began to call me 
“Captain Llewellyn” — not at my owm instiga- 
tion, but in spite of all done to the contrary. 
The master of a ship must be the captain, they 
argued obstinately ; and my well-known modes- 
ty had the blame of all that I urged against it. 
But I need not say any more about it ; because 
the war has gone on so long, and so many seamen 
have now been killed, that the nation has been 
stirred up to learn almost a little about us. 

While I was dwelling on all these subjects, who 
should appear but Miss Delushy, newly delivered 
from Candleston Court, on her round of high ed- 
ucation ? And, to my amazement, who but Lieu- 
tenant Bluett delivered her? I had not even 
heard that he was come home ; so much does a 
man, when he rises in life, fail in proper wakeful- 
ness ! But now he leaped down from the fore- 
castle, and with a grave and most excellent court- 
esy, and his bright uniform very rich and noble, 
and his face outdoing it, forth he led this little 
lady, who was clad in simple gray. She descend- 
ed quite as if it was the proper thing to do ; and 
then sire turned and kissed the tips of her fingers 
to him gracefully. And she was not yet eleven 
years old ! How can we be amazed at any revo- 
lutions after this ? 

“Bardie!” I cried, with some indignation, as 
if she were growing beyond my control ; and she 
stood on the spring of her toes exactly as she had 
done when tw'o years old, and offered her bright 
lips for a kiss, to prove that she was not aiTogant. 
None but a surly bear could refuse her ; still my 
feelings were deeply hurt, that other people should 
take advantage of my being from home so much, 
to wean the affections of this darling from her 
own old Davy, and perhaps to set up a claim for 
her. 

Berkrolles knew what my rights were; and 
finding him such a quiet man, I gave it to him 
thoroughly well before I went to bed that night. 
I let him know that his staying there depended 
wholly upon myself ; not only as his landlord, but 
as holding such a position now in Newton, and 
Nottage, and miles around, that the lifting of my 
finger would leave him without a scholar or a crust. 
Also I wished him to know that he must not, as. 
a wretched landsman, take any liberties with me, 
because I had allowed him gratis to impart to me 
the vagueness of what he called “mathematics,” 
in the question of navigation. I made out some; 
but the rest went from me, through the clearness 
of my brain (which let things pass through it) ; 


otherwise I would have paid him gladly, if he had 
earned it. But he said (or I may myself have 
said, to suggest some sense to him) that my brain 
was now too full of experience for experiments. 
Of all the knowledge put into me by this good 
man carefully, and I may say laboriously, I could 
not call to mind a letter, figure, stroke, or even 
sign, when I led the British fleet into action at the 
battle of the Nile. But it may have all been there, 
steadily underlying all, coming through great mo- 
ments, like a quiet perspiration. 

But if I could not take much learning, here wag 
some one else who could ; and there could be no 
finer sight for lovers of education than to watch 
old Mr. Berkrolles and his pupil entering into the 
very pith of every thing. I could not perceive 
any cause for excitement in a dull matter of this 
sort ; nevertheless they seemed to manage to get 
stirred up about it. For when they came to any 
depth of mystery for fathoming, it was beautiful 
to behold the long white hair and the short brown 
curls dancing together over it. That good old 
Roger was so clever in every style of teaching, 
that he often feigned not to know a thing of the 
simplest order to him ; so that his pupil might 
work it out, and have a bit of triumph over him. 
He knew that nothing puts such speed into little 
folk and their steps — be they of mind or body — 
as to run a race with grown-up people, whether 
nurse or tutor. 

But in spite of all these brilliant beams of 
knowledge now shed over her, our poor Bardie 
was held fast in an awkward cleft of conscience. 
I may not have fully contrived to show that this 
little creature was as quick of conscience as my- 
self almost ; although, of course, in a smaller way, 
and without proper sense of proportions. But 
there was enough of it left to make her sigh very 
heavily, lest she might have gone too far in one 
way or the other. Her meaning had been, from 
her earliest years, to many, or be married. She 
had promised me through my gray whiskers often 
(with two years to teach her her own mind), never, 
as long as she lived, to accept any one but Old 
Davy. We had settled it ever so many times 
while she sat upon my shoulder, and she smacked 
me every now and then, to prove that she meant 
matrimony. Nov.^, when I called to her mind all 
this, she said that I was an old stupid, and she 
meant to do just what she liked, though admit- 
ting that every body wanted her. And after a 
little thought she told me, crossing her legs (in the 
true old style), and laying down her lashes, that 
her uncertainty lay between Master Roger and 
Mr. Bluett. She had promised them both, she 
did believe, without proper time to think of it ; and 
could she marry them both, because the one w'as 
so young and the other so old ? I laid before her 
that the proper middle age of matrimony could 
not be attained in this w’ay ; though in the present 
upside down of the world it might come to be 
thought of. And then she ran away and danced 
(exactly as she used to do), and came back with 
her merry laugh to argue the point again with me. 

Before I set off* for Narnton Court on my way 
to join the Bellona, Lieutenant Bluett engaged 
my boat and my services, both with oar and net, 
for a day’s whole pleasure off shore and on. I 
asked how many he meant to take, for the craft 
was a very light one; but he answered, “As 
many as ever he chose, for he hoped that two of- 
ficers of the royal navy knew better than to swamp 


138 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


a boat in a dead calm sucb as this was.” My 
self-respect derived such comfort from his out- 
spoken and gallant way of calling me a brother 
officer (as well as from the most delicate air of ig- 
norance which he displayed when I took up a 
two-guinea piece which happened to have come 
through my roof at this moment perhaps, or at 
any rate somehow to be lying in an old tobacco- 
box on my table), that I declared my boat and 
self at his command entirely. 

We h^id a very pleasant party, and not so many 
as to endanger us, if the ladies showed good sense. 
Colonel Lougher and Lady Bluett, also the lieu- 
tenant, of course, and a young lady staying at 
Candleston Court, and doing her utmost to en- 
trap the youthful sailor — her name has quite es- 
caped me — also Delushy, and myself. These 
were all, or would have been all, if Master Rod- 
ney had not chanced, as we marched away from 
my cottage, with two men carrying hampers, to 
espy, in the comer of the old well, a face so sad, 
and eyes so black, that they pierced his happy 
and genial heart. 

“ I’ll give it to you, you sly minx,” I cried, 

‘ ‘ for an impudent, brazen trick like this. What 
orders did I give you, miss ? A master of a ship of 
the line, and not master of his own grandchild !” 

The young lieutenant laughed so that the rush- 
es on the sand-hills shook, for he saw in a mo- 
ment all the meaning of this most outrageous 
trick. Bunny, forgetting her grade in life, had 
been crying, ever since she awoke, at receiving 
no invitation to this great festivity. She had 
even shown ill-will and jealousy towards Bardie, 
and a want of proper submission to her inevitable 
rank in the world. I perceived that these vile 
emotions grew entirely from the demagogic spirit 
of the period, which must be taken in hand at 
once. Wherefore I boxed her ears with vigor, 
and locked her into an empty cupboard, there to 
w'ait for our return, with a junk of bread and a 
cheese-rind. However, she made her way out, 
as her father had done with the prison of Dun- 
kirk ; and here she was, in spite of all manners, 
good faith, and discipline. 

“Let her come; she deserves to come; she 
shall come!” Master Rodney cried; and as all 
the others said the same, I was forced to give in 
to it ; and upon the whole, I was proud, perhaps, 
of our Bunny’s resolution. Neither did it turn 
out ill, but rather a good luck for us, because the 
young lady who wooed the lieutenant proved her 
entire unfitness for a maritime alliance, by want- 
ing, before we had long been afloat, although the 
sea was as smooth as a duck-pond, some one to 
attend upon her. 

Every one knows what the Tuskar Rock is, and 
the caves under Southern Down; neither am I 
at all of a nature to dwell upon eating and drink- 
ing. And though all these were of lofty order, 
and I made a fire of wreck-wood (just to broil 
some collops of a sewin, who came from the 
water into it, through a revival of my old skill ; 
and to do a few oysters in their shells, Avirh their 
gravy sputtering, to let us know when they were 
* done, and to call for a bit of butter), no small 
considerations, or most grateful memories of fla- 
vor could have whispered to me twice thus to try 
my mouth with waterings over such a cookery. 
But I have two reasons for enlai-ging on this 
happy day ; and these two would be four at 
once, if any one contradicted them. 


V 

My chief reason is that poor dear Bardie first 
obtained a pure knowledge of her desolate state' 
upon that occasion — at least so far as we can 
guess what works inside the little chips of skulls 
that we call babyish. Every body had spoiled 
her so (being taken with her lovingness, and real 
newness of going on, and power to look into 
things, together with such a turn for play as 
never can be satiated in a world like ours ; not 
to mention heaps of things which you must see 
to understand), let me not overdo it now in say- 
ing that this little dear had taken such good edu- 
cation, through my liberal management, as to long 
to know a little more about herself, perhaps. 

This is a very legitimate wish, and deserving 
of more encouragement than most of us care to 
give to it ; because so many of us are not the waifs 
and strays, and salvage only, but the dead ship- 
wrecks of ourselves ; content with the bottom of 
the great deep, only if no shallow fellows shall 
come diving down for us. 

Having the joy of sun and sea, and the gi'ati- 
tude for a most lovely dinner, such as none could 
take from me, I happened to lie on my oars and 
think, while all my passengers roved on the rock. 
They were astray upon bladder-weed, pop-w^eed, 
dellusk, oar-weed, ribbons, frills, kelp, wrack, or 
five-tails — any thing you like to call them, with- 
out falling over them. My orders were to stand 
off and on till the gentry had amused them- 
selves. Only I must look alive ; for the Tuskar 
rock would be two fathoms under water in about 
four hours, at a mile and a half from the nearest 
land. 

The sunset wanted not so much as a glance 
of sea to answer it, but lay hovering quietly, 
and fading beneath the dark brows of the cliffs ; 
which do sometimes glorify, and sometimes so 
discourage it. The meaning of the weather and 
the aiTangement of the sky and sea, was not to 
make a show for once, but to let the sunset 
gently glide into the twilight, and the twilight 
take its time for melting into starlight. This I 
never thus have touched, except in our old isl- 
and. 

There was not a wave to be seen or felt, only 
the glassy heave of the tide lifted my boat every 
now and then, or lapped among the wrinkles of 
the rocks, and spread their fringes. Not a sound 
was in the air, and on the water nothing except 
the little tinkling softness of the drops that feath- 
ered off from my suspended oar-blades. Float- 
ing round a comer thus, I eame upon a sight as 
gently sad as sky and sea were. A little maid 
was leaning on a shelf of stone with her hair di- 
sheveled as the kelp it mingled with. Her plain 
brown hat was cast aside, and her clasped hands 
hid her face, while her slender feet hung down, 
and scarcely cared to paddle in the water that 
embraced them. Now and then a quiet sob, in 
harmony with the evening tide, showed that the 
storm of grief was over, but the calm of deep 
sorrow abiding. 

“What is the matter, my pretty dear?” I 
asked, after landing, and coaxing her. “Tell 
Old Davy ; Captain David will see the whole of 
it put to rights.” 

“It can not be put to yights,” she answered, 
being even now unable to pronounce the r aright, 
although it was rather a lisp than any clear sound 
that supplied its place; “it never can be put to 
yights ; when the other children had fathers and 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


139 


mothers, God left me outside of them ; and the 
young lady says that I must not aspiya ever to 
marry a gentleman. 1 am only fit for Watkin, 
or Tommy-Toms, or nobody ! Old Dyo, why 
did I never have a father or a mother ?” 

“ My dear, you had plenty of both,” I replied ; 
“but they were shipwrecked, and so were you. 
Only before the storm came on, you Avere put 
into this boat somehow, nobody living can tell 
how, and the boat came safe, though the ship 
was wrecked. ” 

“This boat!” she cried, spreading out her 
hands to touch it upon either side — for by this 
time I had shipped her — “ was it this boat saved 
me?” 

“Yes, you beauty of the world. Now tell me 
what that wicked girl had the impudence to say 
to you.” 

This I need not here set doAATi. Enough that 
it flowed from jealousy, jealousy of the lowest or- 
der, caused by the way in which Lieutenant Rod- 
ney played with Bardie. This of course inter- 
fered Avith the lady’s chances of spreading nets 
for him, so that soon she lost her temper, fell 
upon Delushy, and upbraided her for being no 
more than an utterly unknown castaAvay. 


CHAl’TER LIII. 

BEATING UP FOR THE NAVY. 

My other reason for setting doAvn some short 
account of that evening was to give you a little 
peace, and sense of gratitude to the Lord, for 
our many quiet sunsets, and the tranquillity of 
our shores. It really seems as if no other land 
was blessed as ours is, Avith quiet orderly folk in- 
side it, and good rulers over it, and around it 
not too much of sun or moon, or any thing, un- 
less it may be fog sometimes. And this love of 
our country seems ever to be strongest, Avhether 
at departing for the Avars Avitli turbulent nations, 
or upon returning home, as soon as Ave have con- 
quered them. But noAV for a long time I shall 
have very little peace to dwell upon. 

At Narnton Court I found no solace for my 
warmth of feeling. Polly had been sent out 
of the AA'ay on purpose because I was coming, 
Avhich AA'as a most unhandsome thing on the part 
of Mrs. Cockhanterbury. For the very expecta- 
tion Avhich had buoyed me up at a flattish pe- 
riod, and induced me to do Avithout three quids 
of crosscut negro-head, Avas my simple and hum- 
ble looking forward to my Polly. I kneiv that I 
Avas a fool, of course ; but still I could not help 
it ; and I had got on so Avell among young Avom- 
en always, that I found it A'ery hard to miss the 
chance I cared for. I feared that my age Avas 
beginning to tell; for often, since I had been 
ashore, my rheumatics had come back again. 
Neither Avas that my only grief and source of 
trouble at this time; but many other matters 
quite as graA'e combined against me. Heaviside 
Avas not there to talk, and make me hug my sin- 
gleness; nor even Jerry Toms, nor the cook, 
Avho used to let me teach her. It Avas not that 
all these had left the place for any mischief. In 
an ancient household such a loss is not alloAv- 
able. All meant to come back again, AA'hen it 
suited their opportunities, and each perceived 
that the house Avas sure to go to the dogs in the 


absence of themseh’es and one another. Heavi- 
side had found Nanette (in spite of my best prog- 
nostics) overget her seventh occasion of produ- 
cing small Crappos, and his natural disappoint- 
ment with her led to such AA'ords that he shoul- 
dered his bundle and made oft’ for Spithead, in 
company with Jeriy, Avho Avas compelled to for- 
sake his creditors. And as for the cook, I did 
hear, though unable to believe it, that she Avas in 
trouble about a young felloAv scarcely worthy to 
turn her jack. 

In other respects I found that nothing of much 
importance had occurred since I was there in the 
summer-time. Sir Philip continued to trust in 
the Lord, and the squire to AA'atch the sunsets ; 
neither had the latter been persuaded to absoh'e 
his brother. The captain had been at home one 
or tAvo days, inquiring into my discoA^ery of the 
buried dolls. He did not attach so much im- 
portance to this matter as his father had done, 
but said that it made a mysterious question even 
more mysterious. And faihng, as a blunt sailor 
Avould, to make either head or tail of it, and be- 
ing disgusted Avith his brother for refusing to see 
him, he vowed to remain in the house no long- 
er, but set off for Pomeroy Castle again, Avhero 
he had formed a close friendship Avith the eldest 
son of the owner. His lady-love, the fair Isa- 
bel, was not living there noAv, but might very 
easily be met with ; for, on coming of age three 
years ago, she had taken possession of her do- 
main, “Carey Park,” a magnificent place ad- 
joining the Pomeroy property. It was said that 
the earl had done his best to catch the young 
heiress for his son, and therefore had made a 
pretext of the old charge against the captain, 
for the pui*pose of putting a stop to communi- 
cation Avith him. But his son. Lord Mohun, 
upon finding how the young lady’s heart Avas 
settled, AvithdreAv his suit (like a man of honor% 
and all the more promptly, perhaps, because he 
had made up his mind to another lady before 
Miss Carey came to them. 

It was said that the captain might noAv have 
persuaded the beautiful heiress to marry him, 
and finish their long affection, if he could liaA'e 
thoroughly made up his mind that honor would 
bear him out in it. For her confidence AA'as so 
perfect in him, that she left it to his own judg- 
ment, herself perhaps longing to put an end to 
their Avearisome uncertainty. Sir Philip heard 
of it, and came down, to implore them thus to 
settle themselves. And Captain Bampfylde Avas 
so hard set by the nature of the case, that he 
might have been enticed aAvay from Avhat his 
conscience told him. This Avas that the solemn 
oath which he had taken in the church, Avith 
Isabel beside him, to purge himself of all foul 
charges (ere he made another guilty, if himself 
were guilty), could not thus be laid aside Avith- 
out a loss of honor. Sir Philip would be the 
last man in the world to counsel dishonest ac- 
tions ; but being an old man, and reluctant that 
his race should all expire, he looked upon that 
sacrament as no more than a piece of sacrilege, 
or a hasty pledge of Avhich the Lord Avould nev- 
er take adA'antage. 

Nobody knoAvs what might have happened Avith 
Captain Bampfylde so beset, and longing to think 
that he ought to act as every body told him : but 
he begged for a night to think over it ; and in the 
morning he received his appointment to the BeU 


140 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


Iona. Even Sir Philip could not deny that the 
hand and the will of the Almighty must herein 
be recognized. And there was a chance of a 
brush with Spain about the Nootka Sound just 
then ; and if any thing makes a sailor’s fortune, 
it is a fight with these fine old Dons. A French- 
man is sure to be captured, but not half so sure 
as a Spaniard; and the hidalgoes do turn out 
good gold, with good manners behind it. Many 
ships have I boarded, but with brightest alacrity 
always a good fat old Spaniard. 

Therefore the captain brushed away any little 
weakness, and set out for Spithead bi-avely, in a 
bachelor condition. And after trying to collect 
what news there was at Narnton, and finding 
that I must not think of meeting my dear Polly, 
I quietly drew my traveling-money, and set forth 
to join him. 

Only every one will reproach me, and have 
right to do so, if I fail to tell the latest tidings 
of that Parson Chowne. People seemed to like 
this man, because they never could make him 
out, and nearly all the world is pleased to hear 
of the rest being vanquished. It seems that a 
wholly new bishop arose, by reason of the other 
dying, and this gentleman swore on the Bible 
to have things in order. When he heard of 
Chowne, and his high defiance of all former 
bishops, he said, “Fie, fie! this must not be; I 
will very soon put this to rights.” To follow up 
this resolution he appointed Tiverton, and the 
old church of St. Peter, for Chowne to bring his 
young people up to a noble confirmation ; also 
for a visitation of the clergy all around ; such as 
they have now and then, to stop the spread of 
king’s evil. 

His holiness the bishop was surprised to re- 
ceive this answer : 

“My dear Lord, — My meet is at Calverly 
on the day you speak of. We always find a fox 
hard by ; and if he should make for Stoodleigh 
coverts, I may come down the Bolham road in 
time to meet your lordship. At any rate, I shall 
dine at ‘The Angel,’ somewhere between three 
and five o’clock, and hope to find you there, and 
have a pleasant evening with you. Yours very 
truly, R. S. Chowne. 

“ P.S. — You need not bring cards.” 

The whole of this was written with Cumber- 
land lead, on the back of a paper showing how 
to treat hounds in distemper; and the bishop 
was displeased about it, and declined his society, 
especially as he had invitation to the good Tid- 
combe Rectory. And there he was treated so 
hospitably by a very handsome family, that he 
put up his glass of a noble wine, and saw the 
sunset through it, and vowed that his Magna 
Charta, or Habeas Corpus, or Writ of Error — 
1 never can remember which — but at any rate 
that his royal orders should fall out of his apron- 
pocket, if he failed to execute them. 

In this state of mind he received a letter from 
Parson Chowne himself, full of respect, and most 
cleverly turned, as well as describing the parson’s 
grief at being unable to bring to his holiness any 
one fit to lay hands upon. The standard set be- 
fore them had been (before laying on of hands) 
to say the Lord’s Prayer backwards ; and there 
was not one of them up to it. This angered the 
bishop to such a degree, that he ordered out his 


heavy coach with the six long-tailed black horses, 
and the coachman wuth cocked-hat and flowing 
wig, and four great footmen shouldering blunder- 
busses; himself sat inside with his crosier and 
mitre, and lawn sleeves, and all the rest of it. 
Now this was just the very thing the refractory 
parson expected; therefore he rode round over 
night and bade every farmer in the neighborhood 
send all his hands, -with pickaxes and shovels, by 
four o’clock the next morning : also he gathered 
all his own men there, as well as the unclad folk, 
who were entirely at his orders. Then he sent 
for Parson Jack, as being the strongest man 
about there, and imparted his intention to him, 
and placed him over the workmen. 

Early in the afternoon the bishop’s state car- 
riage was descried moving up the Tiverton high- 
road, with a noble and imposing aspect. Before 
he arrived at the cross-road leading olf to Nymp- 
ton Rectoiy, his lordship •was sui-prised to see a 
great collection of people standing on a hill above 
the road, and all saluting him with the deepest 
respect. “Not so bad, after all,” he exclaimed ; 
“Brother Chowne has brought his men into goocl 
order, which is the noblest use of the Church. 
Ah ! they don’t see a bishop every day, and they 
know when a thing is worth looking at, for their 
faces are black with astonishment. Halloo, Bob ! 
what’s that ?” 

“ Up with the glass, your lordship,” the coach- 
man shouted back, “or it will be all over with 
you. We are in a rare slough, and no mistake.” 

And so they were. His lordship had no time 
to slam the windows up before the coach lay wal- 
lowing in a bog of nighty blackness. In it pour- 
ed, and filled the coach, and nearly smothered his 
lordship, who was dragged out at last with the 
greatest trouble, as black as if he were dipped in 
pitch. For the parson had done a most shame- 
ful thing, and too bad for even him to think of. 
He had taken up his private road, and dug out 
the ground some six feet deep, and then (by 
means of carts and barrows) transferred to it the 
contents of a quagmire, which lay handy, and 
spread the surface again with road-dirt, so that 
it looked as sound as a rock. Having seen with 
a telescope from his window the grand success of 
his engineering, he sent down a groom in smart 
livery, to present his compliments to the traveler 
who had happened to lose his way and fall into 
a moor-hole, and Avas there any thing he could 
do to mitigate that misfortune ? But the bishop 
sputtered out through his chattering teeth that 
he hoped to hear no more of him, and that none 
but a Devonshire man Avas fit to OA’ersee Devon- 
shire parsons. And this made the fiftii bishop 
conquered by Chowne. 

To return to our noble selves — that is to say, 
to the better people dealt Avith in our history. At 
the close of this year 1790 — to Avit, upon Christ- 
mas-day of that excellent year of grace — no less 
than three of us dined together (of course, AA-ith 
a good many others also) in the captain’s cabin 
of the Bellona, 74-gun ship of the British naAy, 
carrying also six carronades. These three Avere, 
Captain Drake Bampfylde, of course, the Hon- 
orable Rodney Bluett, now our second lieuten- 
ant, and the master of the ship, whose name Avas 
something like “David LleAvellyn.” This lat- 
ter was now remarkable for the dignity of his ap- 
pearance and the graAuty of his deportment ; and 
although he Avas only ranked after the youngest 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


141 


of the lieutenants, and just before chits of reef- 
ers (called by some people “midshipmen”), and 
though upon any but festive occasions you might 
not have spied him at the captain’s table, you 
could scarcely have found any officer more satis- 
fied with liis position, and more capable of main- 
taining it. 

We were cruising off the south coast of Ire- 
land, under orders to search all ships that might 
be likely to carry arms ; but as a frigate would 
have done for that sendee as well as, or better 
than, a 74, we knew that our true commission 
was to shake together and fall into discipline, 
and bring other seamen into the same, if we 
could get any to join us. Having a light wind 
and plenty of sea-room, we resolved to enjoy 
ourselves that day ; and a very delightful party 
it was, especially after I was called on to spin a 
few of the many true yarns which make me such 
a general favorite. 

After filling our glasses and drinking the health 
of his majesty, and of the navy at large, and es- 
pecially of our captain, we began to talk of the 
state of affairs and the time at which the war 
might be expected to declare itself. That it 
must come to a great war with France, not even 
a fool could doubt, although he might desire to 
doubt it, ever since the destruction of the Bas- 
tile in July, 1789. And throughout all the year 
and a half since that, a wild and desperate mul- 
titude had done nothing but abolish all the safe- 
guards of their country, and every restraint upon 
the vilest rabble. Our wisest plan was to begin 
at once, before this cruel monster should leam the 
use of its fangs and the strength of its spring ; 
but, as usual. Great Britain was too slow to seize 
the cudgel, which might haply have saved a mill- 
ion lives. However, we were preparing quietly 
for the inevitable conflict, as even our presence 
that day in the cabin of the Bellona might indi- 
cate. 

“Master, we are sadly short of hands,” said 
Captain Bampfylde, addressing me; “I shall 
have a poor report to make, unless we do some- 
thing. Do you think that we could get on with- 
out you, if I sent you on a cruise for a week or 
so ?” 

“I think you might, sir,” I answered, humbly ; 
“ if it does not come on to blow, and if you keep 
well away from land. I have trained Mr. Se- 
bright with so much skill, that you may always 
rely upon him, except in any difficulty.” 

Nobly I spoke ; and the captain’s reply was not 
very far behind me. “If we carried 750 men,” 
he exclaimed, with generous candor, “w’e could 
not hope to have more than one Master David 
Llewellyn — so diffident, so truthful, so entirely 
free from jealousy. Gentlemen, is it not so ?” 

All the officers assented with a pleasant smile 
to me, and then to one another, so that I hardly 
knew what to say, except that I could not de- 
serve it. 

“Our tender, the Sealark, is to meet us in the 
Cove of Cork on New -year’s -day,” continued 
Captain Bampfylde; “and after shipping all our 
stores, she will be for a fortnight at my disposal. 
Now you know, as well as I do, that our comple- 
ment for w'ar-time is 650 men and boys, and that 
our present strength is more than 200 short of 
that. War may be declared any day almost, and 
a pretty figure we should cut against a French 
liner of eighty guns. Therefore, unless the Sea^ 


lark should bring us a veiy large draft, which I 
do not expect, my resolve is to man and victual 
her for a fortnight’s cruise, under some one who 
is a good hand at recruiting. Would you like 
the berth. Master Llewellyn ?” 

“ Sir, I know not any thing which I should like 
better.” 

Our captain perceived that the junior lieuten- 
ants looked rather glum at being so passed over, 
from Master Rodney downward ; and thougli he 
had the perfect right to appoint any officer he 
pleased, he knew the true wisdom of shunning 
offense, by giving some good reason. Therefore 
he went on again : 

“There is not one of us, I dare say, who would 
not enjoy this little change. But I think that 
Llewellyn is our man, simply for this reason. 
The part to be beaten up first is the Welsh coast, 
from St. David’s Head to Penarth. I have heard 
of many good seamen there, and especially at 
Llanelly. I think that none of our officers can 
speak Welsh, except Master Dayid. Even you. 
Bluett, though coming from Wales, are not up to 
the lingo.” 

This settled it in the best-natured manner; 
and all congratulated me, and wished me good 
speed in getting hold of old salts, if possible, or 
else fresh young ones. Not to be too long about 
it, somewhere about Epiphany Day, in the year 
1791, I stretched away for the coast of Wales, 
being in command of the Sealark, a rattling cut- 
ter of one hundred tons, with two six-pound bow- 
chasers, and a score of picked men under me. I 
have no time now to describe emotions, even of 
the loftiest order, such as patriotism, modesty, 
generosity, self-abasement, and many others which 
I indulged in, when I cast anchor oft’ Porthcawl, 
and they thought that I meant to bombard them. 
I ordered a boat ashore at once, to reassure the 
natives, when I had given a waft of my flag, 
and fired a gun to salute it. But being now in 
such a position, and the parish to its utmost cor- 
ners raving on the subject, ashore I durst not 
trust myself ; because without rupture of ancient 
ties, and a low impression left behind, I could not 
have got aboard sober again. And after that, 
could I knock down any of my crew for being 
tipsy ? Nevertheless, I had Bardie, and Bunny, 
and Mother Jones with her children, and Master 
Berkrolles, and Charles Morgan, and Betsy Mat- 
thews, and Moxy Thomas, all brought in a boat 
to visit me, besides a few others who came with- 
out leave. They all seemed to be very well and 
happy, and I entertained them beautifully. 

That same afternoon we made a hit enough to 
encourage any body. We impressed not only my 
foe the tailor, but also Hezekiah ! That is to say, 
it was not quite what might be called impress- 
ment ; because, with no war raging yet, we could 
not resort to violence ; but we made them both 
so entirely drunk, that we were compelled, for 
their own sake, to weigh anchor, while having 
their bodies on board. I had a stern fellow of 
noble mind to back me up at all hazard, and see- 
ing what a sneak Hezekiah was, he gave him six 
dozen out of hand, with my official sanction. The 
horologist to the royal family took his allotment 
worse than almost any man I ever saw ; however, 
for old acquaintance’ sake, I would not have him 
salted. In spite of this, the effect was such that 
it brought him round to the English Church, and 
cured I'.im of all French doctrine. And as he 


142 


THE MAH) OF SKER. 


gradually began to lose fat, and to dwell upon 
gunnery, we found his oiliness most useful to pre- 
vent corrosion. Having worked this coast to our 
utmost power, and gathered a good deal of hu- 
man stutf (some useful and some useless), pretty 
near three-score in all, and put upon short rations, 
we thought that we might as well finish our job 
by slanting across to Devonshire; because, for 
the most part, you there may find more body but 
less mind than ours, which is the proper state of 
things for the substance of our navy. Therefore 
we drafted off to Cork all our noble Welshmen, 
and made sail for Devonshire. 

Now, before telling what we did, I really must 
guard against any nasty misconstruction. What- 
ever had been done to me on the part of Parson 
Chowne was by this time so wholly gone out of 
my heart, and mind, and every thing any man can 
feel with, that nothing was farther from my in- 
tention than to go into that matter again. I 
knew that, in spite of all the deference paid me 
now on every side (and too much for my comfort), 
Chowne would turn me inside out, ten thousand 
times worse than Stew could. This I like to see 
done, when any thing wrong can be found inside 
a man. But a tlioroughly honest fellow should 
stick on his honesty and refuse it. 

So when Providence, in a dream, laid before 
me the great mercy, and I might say miracle, of 
impressing the naked people, and bringing them 
under our good chaplain, to be trained from the 
error of their ways and live, I felt a sort of deli- 
cacy as to trespassing thus upon Parson Chowne’s 
old freehold. 

These naked folk belonged to him, and though 
he did not cultivate them as another man might 
have done, it was not difficult to believe that he 
found fine qualities in them. And to take them 
from under his very nose might seem like a nar- 
row vexation. However, times there are when 
duty overrides all delicacy ; the Bellona was still 
short of her number by a hundred hands or more ; 
and with this reflection I cast away all further 
hesitation. 

We left the Sealark off Heddon’s Mouth, a 
wild and desolate part of the coast, for my ob- 
ject was to pounce unawares on the parson’s sav- 
age colony. For what we were going to do was 
not altogether lawful just at present, although it 
very soon would be. My force consisted of no 
less than fifteen jolly well-seasoned tars, all thor- 
oughly armed, all up for a spree, and ready to do 
any mortal thing at a word or a signal from me. 
If we could only surprise the wild men, I had no 
fear as to our retreat, because the feeling of the 
country would be strongly in our favor as the 
abaters of a nuisance long pronounced unbear- 
able. 

For five, or it may have been six leagues, we 
marched across the moors as straight as possible 
by compass, except when a quagmire or a ridge 
of rugged stone prevented us. We forded sev- 
eral beautiful streams of the brightest crystal 
water, so full of trout that I longed to have a 
turn at my old calling ; and we came in view of 
Nympton steeple just as the sun was setting. I 
remembered the lie of the land quite well, ever 
since that night when the fire happened ; so I 
halted my men in a little wood, and left them to 
eat their suppers, while I slung my spy-glass and 
proceeded to reconnoitre the enemy. Lying flat 
upon the crest of a hummocky ridge of moorland. 


I brought my glass to bear through the heather 
first upon the great parson’s house, which stood 
on a hill to the left of me, and then on the bar- 
barous settlement. The Rectory looked as snug 
and quiet as the house of the very best man could 
be, with a deal more of comfort than most of 
these contrive to gather around them. The dens 
of the tribe that objected to raiment were quite 
out of sight from his windows ; nor were they al- 
lowed to present themselves to Mrs. Chowne un- 
less she had done any thing to vex him. Shap- 
ing my glass upon these wretches, I saw that they 
were in high festival. Of course I could not tell 
the reason, but it turned out afterwards that the 
parson’s hounds were off their feed through a sud- 
den attack of distemper, and therefore a cart-load 
of carrion had been taken down to the settlement. 
It was lucky that I knew it not, for I doubt wheth- 
er w'e should have dared to invade their burrows 
at such a period. 

However, I thought that nothing could be more 
suitable for our enterprise. Of course they would 
all overgorge themselves, and then their habit of 
drinking water, which alone would establish their 
barbarism, was sure to throw them into deep un- 
troubled sleep till sunrise. As soon as one could 
strike a line from the pointers to the Pole-star 
(which is a crooked one, by-the-bye), and as soon 
as it was dark enough for a man to count the 
Pleiads, I called my men with a long low whistle, 
and advanced in double file. The savages lay as 
deeply sleeping as if their consciences were per- 
fect, whereas they could have had none at all. 
We entered the principal cuddy, or shanty, or 
shieling, or wigwam, or what you Avill (for it was 
none of these exactly, but a mixture of them 
all), and to our surprise not one awoke, or was 
civilized enough to snore. Higgledy-piggledy 
they lay in troughs scooped out of the side of the 
hill, or made by themselves, of clay and straw 
(called ‘ ‘ cob, ” I believe, in Devonshire), with 
some rotten thatch above them, and the sides 
of their den made of brush-wood. Some of the 
elders had sheep-skins over them, but the greater 
pai-t trusted to one another for warmth, and to 
their hairiness. 

All this Ave saAv by a blue-light Avhich I ordered 
to be kindled — for at first it AA^as as dark as pitch 
— and a stranger or a sadder sight has rarely been 
seen in England. Poor creatures ! they Avere all 
so coAved by the brilliant light and the armed 
men standing in their filthy hoA'el, that they of- 
fered no resistance, but stared at us in a piteous 
manner, as if AA^e AA'ere come to kill them. Es- 
cape Avas impossible, save for the children, and 
most of them thought (as Ave found out after- 
Avards) that ChoAvne Avas tired of them and had 
ordered their destruction. 

‘ ‘ Choose all the males from ten years to thir- 
ty,” I shouted to my men, who Avere almost as 
scared as the savages ; “don’t touch the females, 
or I’ll cut you down. Set another blue-light 
burning : Ave don’t want any cripples.” 

Not to be too long Avith it, I only found three 
men Avorth impressing ; the others AA'ere so bad- 
ly built, or eA'en actually deformed, and of ap- 
pearance so repulsive, that Ave could not bear to 
think of turning them into messmates. 

“Now for the boys !” I cried ; “ Ave Avant boys 
even more than men almost but I found that 
all the children save one had slipped through the 
sailors’ legs adroitly, while Ave Avere dealing Avith 


THE MAID OF SKEE 


143 


»the men. "We could not have caught them in the 
dark ; and more than this, the best-sized of them 
had popped, like snakes, into burrow-holes, or 
like a fox into his earth. 

But the one who stood his ground and faced 
ns was a noble-looking boy, in spite of dirt and 
nakedness, with long thick tangles of golden hair, 
and a forehead like a man’s almost. He looked 
up at me in a bold, steady manner, wholly unlike 
their savage stare, and it struck me that here was 
the little fellow whom I had saved eight or nine 
years ago from the horse of Parson Jack. But 
though he appeared to be twelve years old, I could 
not make out what he said, except “Yes, yes;” 
and “ and me come with oo.” Such was his state 
of education ! 

I hoisted him on a strong man’s back, for the 
long march had made me feel my years, and per- 
ceiving no call to molest the residue, or injure 
their home — such as it was — we simply hand- 
cuffed the three best fellows, and borrowed three 
pig-whips of their own (made right-down ingen- 
iously) so as to drive them to Heddon’s Mouth. 
We durst not halt for a rest until there were 
three leagues between us and Nympton Moor; 
then hurrying on at the break of day, we found 
the Sealark at anchor ; and she sent us a boat 
at our signal. 

Scarcely were we on board of the boat, and 
pushing off with our capture, when the clash of 
a horse’s hoofs upon rock rang through the mur- 
muring of the waves. We turned and gazed 
with one accord, for the boat lay broadside on 
to shore, through the kicking of the naked men 
when they felt salt-water under them, and our 
quitting good stroke to attend to them. At fu- 
rious speed a horseman dashed out of the crag- 
gy glen, and leaped the pool where the brook is 
barred up and vanishes. Down the shingle and 
shelves of wrack, he drove his horse into the sea, 
until there was no firmness under him. He al- 
most laid hold of our boat — not quite; for I 
struck with an oar at the horse, and scared him, 
shouting to all of my crew to pull. 

Finding himself just a little too late, Chowne 
gave a turn to his horse’s head, and the lather 
and foam of the spirited animal made a white 
curdle in the calm blue sea. The horse sprang 
gladly up the shingle crest — for the shore is very 
steep there — and he shook himself and scattered 
bi-ine ; and there were three other horses behind 
him. On one of these sat Parson Jack, and two 
huntsmen on the other twain, and the faces of 
these were as red as fire with hurry and indig- 
nation. 

Only Chowne’s wicked fiice was white, and set- 
tled with calm fury ; and his style of address to 
us, just as if we were nothing but dogs of his 
kennel. 

“Ho, you scoundrels!” he shouted out; “hold 
oars, and let me parley you.” 

At this I made a signal to my crew to slack 
from rowing; and I stood up in the boat, and 
said, “ What can we do for your reverence ?” 

“Nothing for me, rogues ; but much for your- 
selves. I will give you five pounds for that child 
in the stern. I want him for knife-cleaning.” 

“Would your worship think fifty too much for 
him? We put him at fifty, your worship.” 

“ Fifty, you robbers ! Well, then, fifty. Ten 
times his value to any one. But I have a fancy 
for him. ” 


“Would your worship mind saying five hun- 
dred down ? Look at his hair : he is worth it. ” 
For we had washed him in the brook ; and his 
hair, in drying, was full of gold. 

“Who are you?” he shouted, controlling him- 
self, as his habit was, when outbreak became use- 
less. For the dignity of my demeanor and the 
nobility of my uniform, also the snowiness of my 
hair, combined to defeat the unerring quickness 
of his rapid and yet cold eyes. And so I replied, 
with an elegant bow — 

“Your reverence, it so happens that my name 
is ‘ Old David Llewellyn.’ ” 

CHAPTER LIV. 

TAMING OF THE SAVAGES. 

After a most successful cruise, we returned to 
our Bellona, and were received, as behooves suc- 
cess, with ever so many rounds of cheers. It was 
true that we had sent before us, and now brought 
in, an awkward lot ; but it is beautiful to see how 
in a large ship’s company, and under a good com- 
mander, mere coaster fellows become true sea- 
men, and even land-lubbers learn how to walk. 
Captain Drake Bampfylde did me the honor of 
asking my advice, as soon as his own opinion was 
settled ; and I said no more than “ Bay of Bis- 
cay,” which was his own opinion. Here the very 
utmost of a noble sea awaited us, and none of our 
landsmen had any heart for fat, or even for lean 
stuff. We let them go on for a day, perpetually 
groaning, and after that we provided for each a 
gallon of salt-water, and gave it them through the 
ship’s trumpet, until they entirely ceased from 
noise. 

These prudent measures brought them into 
such a wholesome state of mind, that really a 
child might lead them, as by one of the proj)hets 
mentioned, when I read my Bible. All of our 
new hands, I mean, except Hezekiah and the 
three wild men. 

Unfortunate Master Perkins could not enter 
into the spirit of our exertions for his benefit, 
because his mind was unsettled with knowing the 
hardship both of his back and front. For his 
back was covered with raw places sitting amiss 
to the fit of his clothes, while the forward part of 
his body became too hollow to yield him comfort. 
But, strange to say, his wrath was kindled not 
against us for these misfortunes, but against his 
wife Hepzibah, because she , had not predicted 
them. And for the greater part of a week the 
poor fellow lay in a perfect craze upon the orlop 
deck, while the ship was rolling heavily. Noth- 
ing could persuade him but that he was the proph- 
et Jonah in the belly of the whale, and he took 
the stowage of our cables for the whale’s intes- 
tines. You could hear him even from the main- 
deck screaming at the top of his voice, “ Wallow 
not, oh whale ! oh whale I Lord, Thy servant re- 
penteth, only let not this whale wallow so.” So 
that in spite of all his tricks, hypocrisy, pride, and 
gluttony, I could not help taking compassion upon 
him, and having a hammock rigged tenderly for 
him, so that his empty and helpless body fell into 
a deep sleep as long as the prophet himself could 
have had it. For I never could show myself at 
Bridgend, if through my means Hezekiah found 
the sea his church-yard. On the other hand, the 


144 


THE IMAID OF SKER. 


three wild men took their visitation from a whol- 
ly different point of view. They had never heard 
either of God or the devil, and could not believe 
themselves even worth the interference of either 
Power. For they did not believe that their souls 
were immortal (as I suppose they must have been), 
nor were they even aware of possessing any thing 
more than a body apiece. My own idea of treat- 
ment Avas that, to bring them into self-respect, 
we should flog the Avhole three very soundly, and 
handsomely pickle them aftemards : nor could I 
see any finer method of curing them of their hair- 
iness. But Captain Bampfylde, Avho showed the 
strangest interest in these savages, Avould on no 
account have them flogged until they gave occa- 
sion. He said that their ideas of justice might 
be thrown into a crooked line, if the cat-and-nine- 
tails were promiscuously administered. Whereas 
I kneAv that the only Avay to make a man dwell 
upon justice is to gfre him a taste of the opposite. 
He values the right after this, because he thinks 
there is none of it left upon earth. 

So for the present these three “Jack Canni- 
bals,” as our tars entitled them, sat apart and 
messed apart — and a precious mess it was of it. 
They soon got over the “Marly Mary,” as the 
Crappos call it ; and we taught them how to chew 
tobacco, which they did, and swallowed it. Only 
their fear of the Avaves Avas such that they could 
not look over the side of the ship, or even out of 
a port-hole. After a feAv days Ave fell in Avith 
pelting shoAvers of hail and sleet, with a bitter 
gale from the north-north-AA'est. I saw the beau- 
ty of this occasion to shoAV mankind their need of 
clothes ; therefore I roused up these three poor 
felloAA's, and had them throAvn into a salting-tub 
full of ice-cold AA'ater. This made their teeth 
chatter bravely, and then Ave started them u]a the 
rigging, Avith a taste of rope’s-end after them. 
They ran up the rattlins faster than even our A'eiy 
best hands could folloAv them, because of the poAver 
still left in their feet, through never haA ing oAATied 
a shoe-maker ; but in the maintop they pulled up, 
and the AA’ind AA*ent shivering through them. 

IMeanAvhile I Avas sedately mounting (as my 
rank required noAv), AAith a very old pilot’s coat, 
AA'ell worn out, hanging over my left arm. 

“Here, Jack!” I czied to the biggest one, 
“take this, and throw it over you, to keep your 
poor bones Avarm.” 

The sheav^es of the blocks were white A\’ith snow 
(w’hich they always seem to be first to take), and 
so were the cleats and the AA’eather side of the 
topmast and top-gallant mast. When you see 
this, you may make up your mind to haA'e every 
rope frosted ere morning. Therefore Jack Can- 
nibal looked at the coat, and around it, as a mon- 
key does. 

“Put it on,” I cried; “poor fellow! put it on 
to cover you.” 

He nodded and laughed, as if I Avere making 
some joke Avhich he ought to understand, and 
then he threAV the Avarm coat round his body 
(noAv quite blue from cold), but Avithout any per- 
ception of sleeA’es, or skirts, or any thing else, ex- 
cept, as it were, like a bit of thatching. And 
after that he helped us to civilize the rest ; so 
that in course of time Ave had them in decency 
far superior to the average shoAv of Scotchmen. 
And in about the same course of time. Cannibal 
Jack, I do assure you, became a very good sea- 
man, and a Avonderfully honest felloAA-, Avithout 


any lies in him. And yet he said things better 
than the finest lies that could be told, all coming 
out of his oddness, and his manner of taking 
tameness. And if a roaring sound of laughter 
came to the ears of an oflScer (such as nev’er could 
be alloAved in the discipline of Avar-time), the of- 
ficer ahvays lifted lip, to have a smile according- 
ly, and said to himself, “ I should like to knoAv 
Avhat Cannibal Jack has said to them.” 

The tAvo other naked ones, Dick and Joe — as 
we christened them out of a bucket of tar, with- 
out meaning any harm to them — never could be 
entirely cured of their hereditary shortcomings. 
We taught them at last to Avear clothes, by keep- 
ing a sharp leather strap ahvays handy, against 
Avhich their only protection Avas a good watch- 
coat, or a piece of sail-cloth; so that, after a 
gi’eat deal of pleasantly, Ave set the ship-tailor to 
Avork for them. But no possible amount of 
strap, nor even cat-and-nine-tails administered 
by our boatsAvain’s mate (a most noble hand at 
Avielding it), could prevail upon them to abandon 
their desire for the property of their messmates. 
They even had the anogance, as their English 
greAV more fluent, to attempt to reason it out 
Avith us. 

“Father David,” said Cannibal Dick, for they 
had agreed that noAv I Avas their patron, even as 
ChoAAme had been, “you take the Crappo ship, 
the enemy you call it, and then you leaA’e them 
all their goods, not touch one of any thing, and 
hand back the ship to him.” 

“Dick, none but a savage w’ould talk such rub- 
bish. We keep the ship and all it holds, and put 
the men in prison.” 

“There for you, noAv, there for you! And 
you beat us because we take not a great ship, 
but some little thing lying about in a ship, from 
our enemies.” 

“Will you neA'er see things aright, Dick? 
We are not your enemies, Ave are your friends ; 
and to steal things from us is robber3^” 

“You call it friends to steal us from our place, 
and people, and Avarm dry sands, and put us on 
this strange great Avetness, where no mushrooms 
grow, and all we try to eat goes into it. And 
then you beat us, and driv'e us up trees such as 
Ave neA^er saAv before, and force us to hide in 
these dreadful things.” 

Here he pointed to his bree(shes Avith a gaze 
of such hopeless misery, that I lelt it Avould be 
an unkind thing to press him with further argu- 
ment. HoweA'er, the boy Avas enough to make up 
for a far Avorse lot than these Avere. We soaped 
him most poAverfully, to begin Avith, even up to 
the skin of his eyelids, and he made no more ob- 
jection than a Christian child might have offered. 
And after Ave had scraped him dry with the rough 
side of a spencer, he came out bright, I do assure 
you, and Avas such a model figure that w’e said 
to one another that he had some right to go na- 
ked. For his skin Avas noAv as fair and soft as the 
opening out of a Avater-lily, Avhile his golden curls 
spread out like floAvers of the frogbit. Also his 
shoulders so nicely turned, and the slope of his 
sides so clever, with arms and legs of such ele- 
gant mould, being thick and thin in the proper 
places, and as straight as a Avell-groAvn parsnip ; 
then, again, his ankles clear, and feet of a char- 
acter never beheld after any shoe-making. 

Our common felloAvs made so much of this su- 
perior little chap, that I Avas compelled to inter- 


145 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


fere, and show my resolution ; and this required 
to be done with some small sense of how to do 
it ; otherwise the boy might take the turn of sour 
grapes with them, and be bullied even more than 
he had been petted thitherto. Moreover, all the 
other boys in the ship were longing to fight with 
him, which (as he was the smallest of all, and not 
brought up in a Christian manner) would have af- 
forded him no fair play for his nice short nose, or 
his soft blue eyes. The little dear was as brave 
as a lion, and ready to fight any one of them ; 
and he used to stand up to my elbow suing for 
permission. And now he began to talk so well, 
that it was very hard upon him not to be allowed 
to fight a bit, according to the natural issue of 
all honest converse. However, I would not be 
persuaded, loving his pretty face as I did ; and 
I fear that he had unhappy times, through the 
wickedness of the other boys. Having a strong- 
er sense of mistake than afforded me any happi- 
ness — in the thick of my rank and comforts — I 
could not find any ease until every thing, looked 
at anyhow, and from all bearings contemplated, 
lay before our captain. He thought enough to 
look wise; and then he said that really I was 
fit to see to such little things myself. He had 
heard of a small boy covered over with a great 
deal of yellow hair ; this should have been fetched 
off long ago ; and what "was the barber kept for ? 
Thus it always does befall me to be thrown back, 
without guidance, on my own resources. And 
even Lieutenant Bluett, with whom I next w'ent 
to hold counsel, was more inclined to stretch and 
gape, after a heavy spell on deck, than to bring 
his mind to bear upon this child’s adventures. 

“Send the poor little beggar in,” he said, “and 
let me look at him, if I can keep my eyes open. 
Llewellyn, you always did love savages.” 

“ Lieutenant, you would not like me to account 
you in the number.” 

“Davy, you might fairly do it when I come 
off deck like this. Send him in ere I snooze, 
old fellow.” 

This I did ; and when the boy entered, shyly 
putting one hand to his forelocks (as I had in- 
structed him), a beam of the newly-risen sun 
broke in through a bull’s-eye, and made a gold- 
en frame for him. In the middle of this he 
looked so innocent and so comely, and at the 
same time so well bred, that Master Rodney’s 
sleepy eyes fell open with wonder at him. This 
was my doing, of course, entirely. “ Soap and 
discipline ” is my signal to the next generation ; 
and nothing else can counteract all the heresies 
around us. Therefore this little boy’s cheeks 
were brighter than any rose from toweling ; and 
his beautiful eyes without speck of dirt ; and the 
top of his head as sweet and curly as a feathering 
hyacinth. 

When I perceive that I have had the luck to 
make an impression, my rule is to say nothing at 
all, but appear to be unaware of it. This rule is 
founded on common sense; and it took me so 
long to find it out, that it ought to be worth 
something. Otherwise, what offense one gives ! 
And not only that, but consider how seldom 
the man who succeeds deserves it. Any mod- 
est man like me, upon any moderate success, is 
bound to examine himself, and feel less confi- 
dence than he used to have. His success is 
enough to prove, according to the ways of the 
world, that lie never can have deserved it. 

K 


This remembrance led me now to abstain 
from even patting “Harry” (as we had named 
this little fellow) on his golden head at all, lest I 
should manifest undue pride in a creature of my 
creation. For such he was beyond all mistake; 
and it would have given me pleasure to back 
him for a crown against any boy in our fleet, or 
any three in the whole French navy ; taking 
age, of course, and size, into consideration. 

“ What a fine little fellow !” said Rodney Blu- 
ett ; “ why, he ought to be a midshipman. I had 
no idea your savages could turn out such young 
ones. I must see what I can do for him, Davy. 
Only I can’t think of any thing now.” 

Perceiving that I was likely to do more harm 
than good by pressing the matter just then, I took 
little Harry away with me, and found him quite 
full of the young lieutenant’s brave appearance 
and kindly smile. In a word, they were pleased 
with one another so heartily and so lastingly, that 
it was the luckiest day, perhaps, of poor little 
Harry’s unlucky career when I first commended 
him to the notice of the Honorable Rodney. 

For this latter was now not only a general fa- 
vorite in the ship, but also a great power ; being 
our second luff, and twice as active as our first 
tvas. He took the boy under his special care, 
and taught him all sorts of ennobling things — how 
to read, and write, and spell, and clean boots, and 
wait at breakfast. So that I felt many qualms 
sometimes, quite apart from all narrow methods 
of regarding any thing, and springing from the 
simple fear that the child might be spoiled for 
his station in life, and fail to become a good sea- 
man. 


CHAPTER LV. 

UPON FOREIGN SERVICE. 

At length, when all sailors’ hearts were sick 
with vain hopes of some enterprise, France did 
a truly bold thing by declaring ivar against Great 
Britain. Those people before this had given oc- 
casion for the strongest scandal, by taking their 
king and queen in a dastardly manner, and cut- 
ting their heads off. Indignation and hot hatred 
ran throughout England and Wales at the news ; 
but our Government did no more than politely re- 
quest that the London agent of these cut-throats 
should withdraw. 

Nevertheless I can not be wrong — as my pen- 
sion comes from Government — in saying that to 
my mind the British Goveinment, at this noble 
crisis, behaved in a most forbearing, prudent, 
Christian, generous, glorious, and magnanimous 
manner. They waited for war to be proclaimed 
by France before they accepted it. And then 
they proved themselves as wholly unready as they 
ought to be. What finer state of feeling can be 
shown by any country ? 

It must have been either the end of February 
or the early part of March, in the year of grace 
1793, when we heard of this grand and moment- 
ous affair. And I remember the date by this, 
that the onions w’ere sprouted, and ive were com- 
pelled to make shift with shallots ; for, calling at 
Falmouth to victual a little, we sent three boats 
ashore, and I of cdurse was in command of one. 
And though we spread abroad and ransacked all 
the Cornish gardeners’ hoards, and gave them a 
taste of boat-hooks, because they had no proper 


146 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


things, not an onion could we find, except wdth a 
crooked thumb to it. Nor were the young ones 
yet fit to pull ; and this fixes the date to a week 
or so. 

And now we found that the whole of us were to 
be turned over, while the Bellona was refitting, 
to the 74-gun ship Defense, w'ith orders for the 
West Indies at once — as was generally believed 
— to protect our shipping and commerce there. 

For although the war had been so very long 
looked forward to, our Government was not ready 
yet, but had to send squadrons right and left, to 
see to our foreign interests ; while Portsmouth, 
Chatham, and even London, had very few ships 
to defend them. Our charity never begins at 
home ; as poor Bardie’s did in her copy-book. 
However, it chanced to turn out all right, because 
the other side was quite as much abroad as we 
were. 

Some of our men were inclined to grumble at 
having barely a spree ashore, when they longed 
for a turn at home again. But the Admiralty 
settled that, by not paying their back - wages ; 
w'hich is the surest way of all for keeping a fel- 
low well up to his work. His temptation for 
running is gone, because he has no cash to run 
with; neither do his people want him while in 
that condition. This he knows well, and it makes 
him think ; and nine times out of ten he resolves 
to double what is due to him, and really pocket 
it when again due, and almost be admired by his 
own wife. 

Therefore most part of us tumbled over from 
the Bellona into the Defense, after some liberty 
ashore — which, for a godly man like me, was noth- 
ing more than a trial. Captain Drake Bampfylde 
w'orked harder that even Parson Chowne’s horses 
were said to do ; and as for me — but I will not 
say, for it now becomes unbecoming. Enough 
that the Defense cleared outward of the No-man 
buoy, the very day three weeks fi’om the date of 
the Bellona standing inward. We had the wind 
at east-north-east, as it always is in spring-time. 

Now it may seem out of place, and even veiy 
rude on my part ; but I could not altogether help 
a strong desire to know how our captain this time 
managed in the matter of the female sex. I had 
my own feelings towards poor young Polly, and 
a hankering to let her see me (which, however, 
must not now be gratified on either side), and of 
course a man feels, when this is the case, that an- 
other man must be like him. However, the rules 
of the service forbade me to put any questions 
on private affairs to an officer thus set over me ; 
and as for observing him, that -was below me, 
even if time had availed for it. Heaviside also 
had shown such ill-feeling, and even dotvnright 
ingratitude towards me, simply because my posi- 
tion and rank had compelled me to teach him 
his distance, which he was somehow too stupid to i 
le»rn ^especially since his rash elevation, and ap- 1 
pointment as our chief boatswain, which made it 
the more incumbent upon me to preserve a firm j 
attitude) ; this fellow, I say, was so utterly want- ! 
ing in. that deference Avhich the master of a line- 
of-battle ship not only has a right to expect, but 
is even bound to exact, that I could not now 
approach him with inquiries about our captain, i 
And this became tenfold more painful, as soon as 
I saw tliat he knew something. j 

What French sailors could have a chance with i 
a Jleet under Sir Jolm Jervis ? I can not tell how ■ 


many islands we took, for we could not stop to 
count them. We caught just the tail of the hur- 
ricane of the 12th and 13th of August, which 
ever will be remembered as the most terrible 
ever known. None of us had the luck to see the 
pine bulk-head blown through the palm-tree, or 
the whole of a sugar estate set down on the other 
side of the mountain ; but a sailor asks credit for 
his stories because he has given it ; and other- 
wise no tales can go on. 

I need not dwell on our victories here, except 
for the sake of Harry Savage, as we had dubbed 
the poor Nympton boy, for want of legitimate 
surname. In one little skirmish ashore some- 
■where, I think in San Domingo, this little fellow, 
by genuine courage and unusual nimbleness, saved 
the life of his friend and protector, our Lieutenant 
Bluett. For while the lieutenant was engaged, 
sword to sword, with one vile republican, another 
of yet more rampant nature made at him, as it 
were flankwise, and must have given him a bitter 
stab, if Harry had not with a sudden jump grap- 
pled the rogue by the leg so tightly, that down 
he came on his face wdth a curse, so far as their 
language enables them. And we were so en- 
raged, I assure you, at the duplicity of this fel- 
low, that we borrowed a dirk from a little middy, 
and gave it to Harry to stick him with. But this 
our young savage refused to do, and turned quite 
pale at the thought of it, so that we placed that 
Equality man at the mercy of the French royal- 
ists, who were acting with us at that period ; and 
these made very short work with him, as justice 
demanded with a ringleader of pestilential prin- 
ciples. 

Also, in a manner which true modesty forbids 
to dwell upon — because neither of us had clothes 
on — I saved the life, before very long, of our new 
boatswain, Heaviside. This worthy fellow was 
swimming along in his usual independent style, 
after kicking his good wife’s shackles off, when I, 
having taken the inside of him, as his superior 
oflScer, discovered a shark of unusual size desir- 
ous to swallow our boatswain. That this should 
never come to pass was my resolve immediately, 
although I could not quite see how to be in time 
to stop it. For Heaviside, with his usual conceit, 
and desire to show himself off, was floating on 
his back, with arms laid square, and beard on 
breast, and legs spread out like rolling-pins. And 
the shark at twenty knots an hour split the blue 
water towards him. 

Any man but myself would have given him 
over, or left all the rest to help him, especially 
after his utterly republican want of deference. 
To me, however, such want of sympathy w^as al- 
most impossible, so that I swam with all speed to 
Heaviside, where he lay floating grandly. 

“Look there!” I shouted; “all up with you, 
Ben, unless you capitulate.” And with these 
words, I pointed out the fin of the shark advan- 
cing. Royal sharks we always called them, being 
the largest sharks in the world, in and around 
Port Royal. Heaviside had his fat legs foremost, 
and the royal shark stopped to look at them. 

“Will you, or will you not?” I asked, while 
preserving with some difficulty a proper position 
behind him — for even a royal shark could have 
w'anted nothing more after Heaviside. 

“ Oh, Davy, Davy, I will,” he answered ; 
“only, only save me.” 

The look which he gave was now enough to 


THE MAID OF SKEH. 


147 


make me sink small questions, especially as the 
poor fellow managed, being a first-rate swimmer, 
to offer me almost foremost to the jaws of the 
shark just opening. Therefore, as this latter 
creature rolled on his side to make at us, what 
did I do but a thing which none except a great 
fisherman could have done? To wit, I plucked 
from its strings the boatswain’s heavy periwig 
(which had often vexed me, on account of its pre- 
tension), and clapping it on a piece of sugar-cane, 
which lay floating handy, down the wide jaws of 
the shark I thrust it, to improve his appetite. 

Faithless people may doubt my word when 
solemnly I declare to them that this great mon- 
ster of the waters coughed and sneezed like a 
Christian. And we found him rolling dead the 
next morning, with this obstruction in his throat. 
Thus, by much caution and presence of mind, I 
saved our boatswain not only from the jaws of a j 
shark, but from a far more fatal error, arrogance j 
and douTiright contumacy, which had made him 
refuse to touch his hat to his superior officer. 
Now I need not have mentioned this little affair, 
except that it bears upon my story, inasmuch as 
it reconciled master and boatswain, and enabled ! 
them both to work together for the benefit of j 
their captain. Among poor Heaviside’s many 
weak qualities, one of the most conspicuous was ! 
a resolute curiosity. This compelled him to open j 
a great part of the breadth of his nature to the ' 
legitimate, or otherwise, affairs of his fellow- 
creatures. 

And being an orthodox champion of wedlock 
(from the moment he left his wife and children, 
without any power to draw on him), he helped all 
the rest of the world in this way, as a host rec- 
ommends his hot pickles. 

Therefore he had been chosen, by very bad 
taste upon somebody’s part, and an utter forget- 
fulness of me, to be up at our captain’s snap of a 
wedding, and to say “Amen” to it. What could | 
be worse than a huddle of this kind, and a broad : 
scattering aftenvards? If they had only invited ! 
me, both sense and honesty would have been 
there ; as well as a man not to be upset by 
things, however female. 

That was their own concern, of course ; and it 
misbecame me to think of it ; and I saw, upon 
further consideration, that my sturdy honesty 
might not quite have suited them. For women 
are able, with the help of men, to work themselves 
up to any thing. You may call them the shot, 
and men the powder ; or you may take quite 
another view, and regard them as the powder, 
with a superior man at the touch-hole. Anyhow, 
off they go ; and who shall ask the reason ? 

For, from what Heaviside told me, it seems that 
the captain and his fair Isabel, before our pres- 
ent cruise began, had resolved that no one should 
ever be able legally to sever them. But one spe- 
cial term of the compact was that the outer world 
should have no acquaintance with things that | 
happened between them. In other words, that 
they should leave their excellent friends and rel- 
atives all in the dark about this matter, as well as 
save the poor captain’s oath, by quitting each other 
immediately. It is to the utmost extent beyond 
iny own experience to deny that this is the wis- 
est of all arrangements (if there can be any thing 
wise) after the deed of wedlock ; for what can 
equal severance in the saving of disagreement? 
However, they had not the wisdom as yet to look 


at it in this light, and the one wept, and the other 
sighed, when they parted at the chui’ch-yard gate ; 
for the Defense must sail at 1 p.m. The lady had 
been content to come and dwell in a very dirty 
village of the name of Gosport, so that the license 
might be forthcoming from proper people, when 
paid for ; because, of course, in her own county 
nothing could have been done without ten thou- 
sand people to talk of it. And thus they were 
spliced, without hoisting flag; forever spliced, 
both in soul and in law (which takes the lead of 
the other one), and yet in body several always, 
till there should comq, fair repute. 

A common man of my rank in life, and having 
no more than common sense, must often find him- 
self all abroad with wonder about his superiors. 
They seem to look at things as if every thing and 
every person were looking back at them again, 
instead of trusting to the Lord to oversee the 
whole of it. If I had been of the proper age, and 
a lovely rich maid in love with me, would I have 
stopped even twice to think what the world might 
say about us ? Heaviside’s opinion was that the 
lady wished to hide nothing whatever, but pro- 
claim before all people where and when, and 
whom she wedded, and how proud she was of 
him. But the captain, in his kind regard and 
tenderness for her feelings, durst not expose her 
to the pain and sense of wrong which might en- 
sue upon his name coming forward thus, with the 
county thinking as it did, and himself not there 
to vindicate. And of course he knew with what 
vigor and skill vile Parson Chowne would set to 
at once to blacken his character and to make his 
bride a most unhappy one. Therefore Sir Philip 
Bampfylde and the ancient Earl of Pomeroy 
were the only persons present of their rank and 
kindred ; and both of these confessed the wisdom 
of the captain’s arguments. 

Now, on the 30th of April, 1794, at about the 
hour of sundown, our anchor was scarcely be- 
ginning to bite in Cawsand Bay, when the barge 
of the old port-admiral was alongside of us. We 
had long been foregatheriug what we would do 
as soon as we got ashore again ; but noAV we 
could only shake heads and fear that the whole 
would be disappointment. And thus it proved, 
and even worse, for many of our company, yias- 
much as our orders were to make sail at once for 
St. Helens, and there to join the Channel fleet 
under Admiral Lord Howe. Therefore we car- 
ried on again with a gale from south-west to fa- 
vor us, and on the 1st of May Ave brought up in 
the midst of a large society. 


CHAPTER LVI. 

EXILES OP SOCIETY. 

A FINER sight was never seen than we had 
now around ns ; for all the convoy Avas come to- 



ed one hundred and fifty-tAvo large sail, nearly 
fifty of Avhich Avere men-of-Avar, and all the rest 
goodly merchantmen. A sight like this not only 
! strengthens a Briton’s faith in ProAudence, but 
i puts him into a quiet pride concerning his king 
and country. 

I We had scarcely SAvung to our moorings ere 
Ave had signal from the admiral, “Not a man to 


148 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


be allowed ashore. Water and victual all night, 
and be ready to weigh again at day-break.” Of 
course we did so, though a hard thing upon us ; 
and new hands desired to grumble, until Captain 
Bampfylde rigged the gratings, Ileaviside now 
was known to have such a swing of arm, with a 
flick to it, never being satisfied with his mate’s 
administration, that never a man of patriotic 
sentiments encroached on him. We all deter- 
mined to sail once more, and let the French see 
what our nature was (although they might hope 
to find it spoiled, by our being away from home 
so much) ; especially when we heard that they 
had three hundred and fifty sail or more of mer- 
chantmen coming home, all very rich, and fat- 
tened up for capture. What we wanted, there- 
fore, was to see our own good traders free from 
any chance of piracy, and at the same time to 
stop those French from wicked importations. If 
in both points we might succeed, and give battle 
afterwards, our gratitude to the Lord would al- 
most equal our own glory. And we heard that 
the mob in Paris would starve, failing of all this 
American fleet. 

On the 2d of May the wind fetched back to its 
proper place at that time of year, north-north- 
east, with snow-clouds always ready to indorse 
it ; and thus we slipped from our moorings and 
went quietly down Channel. Concerning the 
rest, we have no cause to plead for man’s in- 
dulgence. The Lord continued to baffle us, and 
would not give us any help to close quarters with 
the enemy. We fought three days of rolling 
battle, ending on the 1st of June, after two days 
of fog interrupting, and not a breath of sleep 
four nights. Every one says that we fought 
very well, having every thing so much against 
us, and the French fleet far superior, carrying 
also a representative of the human race, large 
and fat and fluent, of the name of John Bone 
Andrews, who wrote a noble account of this ac- 
tion, although before it began his feelings led 
him to seek security in a hole far below the wa- 
ter-line. 

But one of the strangest things ever seen, and 
thoroughly worth considering, Avas the behavior 
of our two saA'ages under heavy fire. Two, I 
saj’-, although we had three, because Cannibal 
Jack behaved most steadily, and like a thorough 
Christian. But the two others most strongly 
proved their want of civilization and gi-oss igno- 
rance of war, inasmuch as no sooner did they see 
the opening of bloodshed round them, than mad 
they became — as mad, I assure you, as any March 
hares, the brace of them. In the thick of our 
combat with the Towerful, up and down the 
deck these fellows danced in the most conspicu- 
ous places, as if inviting every shot, and cracking 
their knuckles and jabbering. I was for lashing 
them to the mainmast, but Captain Bampfylde 
would not allow it; he said that their spirited 
conduct might encourage and cheer the rest of 
us. And indeed it was strange to see how the 
shot flew around without striking them. 

Now these poor fellows shotved so much at- 
tachment and strong confidence towards me, that 
Avhen we cast anchor in Plymouth Sound (being 
detached for refitment there, together with eight 
other ships of the line), I took it entirely upon 
myself to see them safe home, and to answer 
for them. Our ship had been knocked about so 
much, that she needed a thorough good over- 


hauling, and many of us had a month’s leave 
of absence, while carpenters, caulkers, and rig- 
gers were working. And these three savages 
outwent all of us in longing to see their homes 
again. So it struck me that I might both sat- 
isfy them and also gratify myself a little, by tak- 
ing them under my escort as far as their native 
mud-holes, and then for a week, perhaps, enjoy- 
ing good young Polly’s society. Captain Bamp- 
fylde not only agreed to this, but said that he 
should not care two-pence if he never saw two of 
their number again. He meant, of course, Dick 
and Joe, whose habits of larceny neA'er could be 
thrashed out ; whereas Cannibal Jack was now 
become as honest a hand as myself almost, and 
a valuable foretop-man. Having pledged my 
word to bring this one back safe, and the others 
as Avell (if they chose to come), I set forth afoot 
for a cruise across DeA'on, than which, in the 
summer, with plenty of money, what can be 
more delightful? I would gladly have taken 
young Harry Savage, now a fine lad of fifteen 
years, so far as one might guess it ; but Jack de- 
clared that he must not come, for some reason 
not to be told to me. 

Now it was the flush of summer, very nearly 
twelve years from the time I first began with. 
Sunny hedges spread their overlap of roses over 
us, while the glad leaves danced in time with 
light and shade to foster them. Every bank of 
every lane Avas held at home Avith flowers, nour- 
ished by some flitting rill that made a tinkle for 
them. And through every gate almost, when- 
ever there Avas a man to look, the spread of 
feathered grasses ran, like Avater Avith the Avind 
on it. 

EA^en a sailor may see such things, and his 
heart rejoice and be glad in them, and his peril- 
ous life for aAvhile haA'e rest Avithout any thought 
of any thing. Be that so, neither Dick nor Joe 
eA’er made glance at any thing except the hen- 
roosts near the road, or the haunt of a young rab- 
bit in the hedge, or the nesting of a partridge. I 
kept the poor felloAvs from doing harm, by pre- 
cept and example too ; yet Ave had a roast fowl 
every night, except Avhen it aaus a boiled one. 
And finding myself in my sixty-fourth year, Avhat 
could I do but put up Avith it ? 

It must be three-score miles, I think, eA’en ac- 
cording to the shortest cut, from Plymouth to 
Nympton-on-the-Moors, and Ave wandered out of 
the way, of course, especially after guinea-foAvls, 
Avhich are most deluding creatures, but roast even 
better than their eggs boil. Also, Ave got into 
cherry orchards of a very noble breed ; so that 
Ave spent a Avhole day and two nights, Avithout 
any poAA^er to say fareAvell. And though the farm- 
er’s Avife put up both hands to us at the AvindoAv, 
she sent out the maid to say that aao need not be 
frightened, if Ave Avere real sailors. After giving 
this girl a kiss (to let her knoAv Avhat our profes- 
sion Avas), I sent in Avord that here Avas the mas- 
ter of his majesty’s ship Defense, Avhich had de- 
fended the British Empire in the late great vic- 
tory. That night they made all of usjdrunk, ex- 
cept me. 

Upon these sweet little incidents I must ven- 
ture to dAvell no longer, Avhile haAung so much of 
my yarn in the slack, and none but myself to 
tauten it. Enough that Ave came in about ten 
days to the genuine naked colony, Avithout any 
meaning of surprise, but noAv as great ambassa- 


THE MAID OF SEEK. 


141 


dors. And the least that we all expected was a 
true outburst of wild welcoming. Cannibal Jack 
had announced his intention to convert his rela- 
tives, while Dick and Joe only shook their heads, 
and seemed to doubt the advantage of it. But 
we need not have thought of the matter twice, 
for, strange to say, not one of the savages would 
for a moment acknowledge us. All the barba- 
rous tribe stood aloof, and scowled at their old 
members with utter abhorrence and contempt, as 
if at some vast degeneracy. Even Jack’s wife, 
or the woman who might in humanity have been 
called so, stood moping and mowing at him afar, 
as if his clothes made a sheep of him, while he 
with amazement regarded her as if she were only 
a chimpanzee. Whereupon all of them set up a 
yell, and rushed with such pelting of mud at us, 
that we thought ourselves lucky to make our es- 
cape without any farther mischief. 

After hauling out of action in this most inglo- 
rious manner, we brought up to refit and revictual 
at the nearest public-house, a lonely hut w'here 
four roads met, and the sign hung from an an- 
cient gibbet. Here we were treated very kindly, 
and for veiy little money, so that I was quite as- 
tonished after all our feeding. And I happened 
to say to the landlady that I was surprised to 
find honesty within a league of Parson Chowne. 

“Oh, sir, do you know that dreadful man?” 
she answered, with her apron up ; “or would you 
like to see him, sir ?” 

“Madam,” said I, with that bow of mine which 
takes the women captive, “I should like to see 
him wonderfully ; only without his seeing me.” 

“Of course, of course. All people say that, 
because of the evil eye he hath. This house doth 
belong to him. He be coming for the rent again 
at two o’clock, and he never faileth. Every far- 
thing will be ready now, through your honor’s 
generosity •, and if so be you steps in here when 
you hear me give three knuckles at the door, you 
may see him and welcome for nothing ; only you 
must not speak for ever so.” 

The landlady showed me a little cellar, opening 
from our sitting-room, and having a narrow half- 
boarded hatchway bearing upon her sanded par- 
lor, where she designed to receive the parson. 
And then she was half afraid lest I might make 
a noise and so betray her. But almost before I 
had time to assure her of my perfect secrecy, the 
dash of horse’s hoofs was heard, and the sound 
of a man’s voice shouting. 

“Well done!” said I to myself; “good par- 
son, years have not decreased thee.” 

His strong step rang on the lime-ash floor, and 
his silver spurs niade a jingle, and lo ! there he 
stood in the sanded parlor, as noble a Chowne as 
ever. There was not the sign of a spot of weak- 
ness or relenting about him ; on his shaven face 
no bloom of gray ness, nor in his coal-black hair 
one streak. As vigorous, springy, and strenuous 
seemed he, as when he leaped on board and 
thrashed me, nearly twelve years agone, as I do 
believe. 

“ Woman, where is my money ?” he cried, with 
the old pale frown overcoming him; “twice I 
have given you time. You know what I always 
do thereafter.” 

“Yes, sir, I know what your reverence doth. 
Y’our reverence never calleth law, but taketh 
horsewhip to the mans of us.” 

‘ ‘ Y" our memory is correct, ” he answered ; “my 


usual course is to that effect. I have brought m5 
heaviest whip this time, for your husband ha? 
shown arrogance. Can you show cause why he 
should not have it ?” 

“Yes, your reverence, here it is. And God 
knows how we have scraped for it.” 

AVith the glow of triumph which a man’s face 
hardly ever shows, but a woman’s can not be de- 
nied of, she spread before him all his rent upon 
an ancient tray, and every piece of it was copper. 
Thirty-six shillings she had to pay, and twenty- 
four times thirty-six was there for his reA-erence 
to count. The hostess looked at him, with a 
chuckle brewing now under her apron-strings, 
and ready to rise to her ample breast, and thence 
to her mouth, if expedient. But she mistook her 
customer. 

“Woman,” said Chowne, in his deep low voice, 
which had no anger in it, “I am tired of signing 
warrants. ” 

“Warrants, your Avorship! For Avhat, if you 
please ?” 

“ Warrants for thieves wdio are foisting sham 
Irish half-pennies on the public. I see no less 
than seA^en of them in this sterling stuff of yours. 
Three months at the tread-mill how for yourself 
and your husband. Say no more. You haA^e 
tried a trick. Tiverton Jail for you both to- 
morroAv. ” 

And there, if you AAmnted either of them, you 
must go to find them, only two days afterwards, 
according to Avhat I Avas told of it. No Welsh 
gentleman Avould have dreamed of behaving to 
his tenants thus for trying a little joke Avith him ; 
but Chowne had no sense of any joke, unless him- 
self began it. 

Our three cannibals had been trembling at the 
sound of the parson’s Amice, belieAung that he 
Avould drive them back, and feeling that they had 
no poAver to Avithstand his orders. But luckily 
Ave had made such a smoke — all our savages haA"- 
ing taken to the use of tobacco gloriously — that 
Avhen the parson put his head in, as he must do 
everywhere, he drcAV it back in double-quick 
time, for he hated the Aveed as old Nick does. 
And then, after calling his groom as a Avitness to 
the Irish coinage, he made him tie the whole of 
the rent-money in his pocket-handkerchief, and 
off he set at a good round gallop to make out the 
AvaiTant. You may depend upon it that we four 
Avere very soon off as Avell, and in the opposite 
direction, after subscribing a guinea among us to 
comfort the poor woman, Avho Avas sobbing her 
heart out at her mistake, and at the prospect (as 
seemed to me) of being confined, in more senses 
than one, Avithin the AA^alls of a prison. For some 
time I found myself much at a loss about harbor- 
ing my conAmy; for though I could trust Jack 
Wildman — as I now began to call him — any- 
Avhere and with any thing, this \A'as not the case 
Avith the other tAvo, Avho could never be kept from 
picking up small things that took their fancy. 
We Avere shaping a course for Narnton Court, 
Avhere I intended to sling my OAvn hammock, and 
Jack’s as Avell, if agreeable ; but I durst not offer 
to introduce Dick and Joe, for the cause aforesaid. 
MoreoA'er, they had not yet acquired the manners 
of good society, Avhich were no little insisted upon 
in Sir Philip Bampfylde’s kitchen. Therefore 
I thought myself very clever, Avhen a settlement 
of this question suddenly occurred to me. 

This Avas no less than to settle them both uu 


160 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


der my old feiTy-boat, if still to be found, as two ' 
years back, shored up and turned into a residence. | 
Their rations might be sent down to them, and : 
what happier home could they wish for, with the 
finest air in the world around them, as well as 
beautiful scenery. And if it should happen to 
leak a little (as seems only natural), what a bless- 
ed reflection for a man of due sentiments towards 
the Lord, that this water is dropping from heaven 
upon him, instead of rushing up to swallow him 
into that outrageous sea! 

Accordingly so we contrived this affair. Mr. 
Jack Wildman was introduced, under my skillful 
naval tactics, into the most accomplished circle 
on the quarter-deck of our head cook. And he 
looked so very gently wild, and blushed in his 
clothes so beautifully, that there was not a maid- 
en all over the place but longed to glance, unbe- 
known, at him. So that it seemed a most lucky 
thing that Polly was down with the small-pox at 
a place called Muddiford, wherein she had an un- 
cle. Meanwhile cannibals Dick and Joe lived in 
the boat, as happily as if they had been born in 
it, and devoted their time to the slaying and cook- 
ing of Sir Philip’s hares and rabbits. It was in 
vain that the gamekeepers did their best to catch 
them. Dick and Joe could catch hares, as they 
boasted to me, almost under the w^atchers’ noses ; 
so noble was the result of uniting civilized cun- 
ning with savage ingenuity. 

I can well believe that no other man, either of 
my rank or age, would have ventured on the step 
which now I did resolve upon. This was no less 
than to pay a visit to my poor little Polly, and risk 
all probabilities of being disfigured by small-pox. 
For several times it had crossed my mind, that al- 
though she w’as among relatives, they were not 
like a father or mother to her, and perhaps she 
might be but poorly tended, and even in need of 
money, pei-haps. For her very own aunt, our 
Mrs. Cockhanterbury, would not go nigh her, and 
almost shuddered when her name was mentioned. 
Now it seemed to be only fair and honest to let 
Sir Philip know my intention, so that he might 
(if he should see fit) forbid me to return to his 
mansion, bringing the risk of infection. But the 
general only shook his head, and smiled at that 
idea. “ If it be the will of God, we shall have it, 
of course,” he said; “and people run into it all 
the more by being over-timorous. And I have 
often thought it sinful to mistrust the Lord so. 
However, you had better keep smoking a pipe, 
and not stay more than five minutes ; and per- 
haps you might just as well change your clothes 
before you come back, and sink the others to air 
for a week in the river.” I was grieved to see 
him so entirely place his faith in Providence, for 
that kind of feeling (when thus overdone) ends 
in what we call “fatalism,” such as the very 
Turks have. So that I was pleased when he call- 
ed me back, and said, “Take a swim yourself, 
Llewellyn. I hear that you can swim five miles. 
Don’t attempt that, but swim two, if you like. 
Swim back to us from Barnstaple Bridge, and I 
will have a boat to meet you, with a wholesome 
wardrobe.” 

Thus was the whole of it arranged, and carried 
out most cleverly. I took poor Polly a bunch 
of grapes from one of the Narnton vineries, as 
well as a number of nice little things such as 
only a sailor can think of. And truly I went not 
a day too soon, for I found her in that weak con- 


dition, after the fmy of the plague is past, when 
every bit of strengthening stuff that can be thought 
of, or fancied by, the feeble one may turn the 
scale, and one cheering glance or one smiling 
word is as good as a beam of the morning. Then, 
after a long walk, I made my swim, and a change 
of clothes, exactly as the general had command- 
ed me. 

In a fortnight afterwards where was I ? Why, 
under the boat, in a burning madness, without a 
soul to come nigh me except Jack Wildman and 
Sir Philip. These two, with the most noble cour- 
age, visited me through my sad attack of small- 
pox, as I was told thereafter, although at the 
time I knew no one. And at a distance around 
the boat, a ring of brush-wood was kept burning, 
day and night, to clear the air, and warn the un- 
wary from entering. Every body gave me up for 
a living Christian any more, and my coffin was 
ordered at a handsome figure (as a death upon 
Narnton premises), ay, and made, also, like that 
of the greatest man that I ever did meet with. 
Not only this, but two Non-confoimist preachers 
found out (as they always do) that in a weak pe- 
riod of my life, when dissatisfied with my pension, 
I had been washed away by my poor wife into the 
scuppers of Dissent. Therefore they prepared 
two sermons on this judgment of the Lord, and 
called me a scape-goat; while goodness knows 
what care they took never to lay hands on me. 

■—» 

CHAPTER LVII. 

MAXY WEAK MOMENTS. 

Nothing less than steadfast faith, and an an- 
cient British constitution, can have enabled me 
to survive this highly-dappled period. It was 
not in my body only, or legs, or parts I think 
nothing of, but in my brain that I felt it most, 
when I had the sense to feel it. And having a 
brain which has no right to claim exemption 
from proper work because of being under aver- 
age, I happened to take a long time to recover 
from so many spots striking inward. An empty- 
headed man might have laughed at the little driUs 
into his brain-pan ; but with me (as with a good 
bee-hive early in October) there could not be the 
prick of a brad-awl but went into honey. And 
so my brain was in a buzz for at least a twelve- 
month aftenvards. 

Therefore I now must tell what happened, 
rather as it is told to me, than as myself remem- 
ber it. Only you must not expect such truth as 
I always give while competent. 

After the master of the ship Defense had 
proved so unable to defend himself. General Sir 
Philip Bampfylde, with his large and quiet mind 
forbidding all intrusion, opened out a little of his 
goodness to Jack Wildman. There are men of 
the highest station, and of noble intellect, who do 
this, and can not help it, when they meet a fel- 
low-man with something in him like them. 
There is no vanity in it, nor even desire to con- 
ciliate ; only a little touch of something under- 
stood between them. And now being brought 
so together perhaps by their common kindliness, 
and with the door of death wide open, as it were, 
before them, the well-boni and highly-nurtured 
baronet, and the lowly, neglected, and ignorant 
I savage, found (perhaps all the more clearly from 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


151 


contrast) something harmonious in each other. 
At any rate they had a good deal of talk by the 
side of the lonely river, where even the lighters 
kept aloof, and hugged to the utmost the opposite 
shore. And the general, finding much amuse- 
ment in poor Jack’s queer simplicity, and strange 
remarks upon men and things, would often relax 
without losing any of his accustomed dignity. 
So, while they were speaking of death one day. 
Jack looked at Sir Philip with an air of deep 
compassion and feeling, and told him with tear- 
ful eyes how heartily he was grieved at one thing. 
Being pressed as to what it was, he answered 
that it was Sir Philip’s wealth. 

“Because,” said he, “I am sad when I think 
that you must go to hell, sir.” 

“I go to hell!” Sir Philip exclaimed, with a 
good deal of rather unpleasant surprise; “why 
should I do that. Jack ? I never thought that 
you entertained so bad an opinion of me.” 

“Your honor,” said Jack, having picked up 
some of my correct expressions, “it is not me; 
it is God Almighty. I was told afore ever I 
learned to read, or ever heard of reading, how it 
W'as. And so it is in the Bible now. Poor men 
go to heaven, rich men go to hell. It must be so 
to be fair for both.” 

The general had too much sense to attempt to 
prove the opposite, and would have thought no 
more about it, if Jack had dropped the subject. 
But to do this at the proper moment requires 
great civilization ; while, on the other hand. Jack 
sought comfort, needless to men of refinement. 

“Your honor must go there,” he said, with a 
nod of his head which was meant to settle it ; 
“ but there is one of your race, or family ” — or 
whatever word of that sort he employed, for he 
scarce could have come to any knowledge of 
things hereditary — “who will go to heaven.” 

“Many are gone there already — too many,” 
answered Sir Philip, devoutly-, “but tell me 
whom you mean, Jack. Do you mean my son, 
the captain ?” 

“Him! no, no. I know better than that. 
It is plain w’here he must go to.” 

“Your captain! you disloyal fellow. Why, 
you ought to be lashed to the triangles. But 
who is it you are thinking of?” 

“I know, I know,” said Jack, nodding his 
head ; and no more could Sir Philip get out of 
him. And whenever he tried to begin again. 
Jack Wildman was more than a match for him, 
by feigning not to understand, or by some other 
of the many tricks which nature supplies, for 
self-defense, to the savage against the civilized. 
If I had been well, I must have shelled this poor 
Jack’s meaning out of him ; whereas, on the 
other hand, but for my illness he might never 
have spoken. So it came to pass that he was 
sent, entirely at Sir Philip’s cost, and with a 
handsome gratuity, to rejoin our captain in Plym- 
outh Sound, and to carry back cannibals Dick 
and Joe, who had scoured away at great speed 
upon hearing of my sudden misfortune. 

Now I will tell you a very strange thing, and 
quite out of my experience ; even after small- 
pox, which enlarged and filled me with charity, 
as w'ell as what I had scarcely room for — increase 
of humility. This is, that though Captain Bamp- 
fylde had some little spare time at Plymouth, he 
had such command of himself that he never went 
near his beloved Isabel. Nothing could have so 


checked a man of heartiness and braveiy, except 
the strongest pow’er of honor, and a long time of 
chastisenient. There was a lovely young wom- 
an, and here a fine though middle-aged man, her 
husband ; they loved one another with heart and 
soul, and they never met but through a telescope ! 

It may have been right, or it may have been 
wrong — I should have thought it wrong, perhaps, 
if the case had been my own — but they pledged 
their honor, and kept it. Drake Bampfylde 
(like his father) had a strength of trust in Provi- 
dence. But this trust has no landed security, 
now that the Lord has found the world so clever, 
that He need not interfere ^ith it. 

The 74-gun ship Defeme was known to be the 
fastest sailer in the British navy; not from her 
build alone, or balance, but from my careful trim 
of her sails, and knowledge of how to handle her. 
Hours and hours I spent aloft, among lifts, and 
braces, and clew-garnets, marking the draw of ev- 
ery sail, and righting all useless bellying. So that 
I could now have warranted her the first of our 
navy to break the line, if rigged according to my 
directions, and with me for her master. How- 
ever (while I lay docked like this, careened, I 
might say, and unlikely ever to cany a keel 
again), the Defense^ without my knowledge even, 
being new-mastered, sailed to join the Channel 
Fleet, with Heaviside acting as her master ; and, 
as might have been expected, fell to leeward one 
knot in three. And even worse than this befell 
her ; for in the second of those two miserable ac- 
tions under Hotham in the year 1795, when even 
Nelson could do nothing, the Defense having now 
another captain as well as a stupid master, act- 
ually backed her mizzen-topsail, in the rear of 
the enemy, when the signal was to fill and stand 
on. However, as even that famous ship the Ag- 
amemnon did nothing that day, through getting 
no opportunity, we must forgive poor Heaviside, 
especially as he was not captain. But the one 
who ground his teeth the hardest, and could for- 
give nobody, was the Honorable Rodney Bluett, 
now" first lieutenant of the Defense, By this time 
every one must desire to know why Captain 
Bampfylde was not there, as he might have been, 
and might have made himself famous, but for his 
usual ill-fortune. This had carried him to the 
East Indies, before the Defense had finished re- 
fitting ; and there, wdth none of his old hands 
near him, he commanded a line-of-battle ship, 
under Commodore Rainier ; and after some hard 
work, and very fine fighting,, drove the brave 
Dutchmen out of the castle of Trincomalee, in 
August, 1795, which we came to hear of after- 
wards. 

Thus it was that every body seemed to be scat- 
tered everywhere. None of us happened to hold 
together, except those three poor savages; and 
they, by a sort of instinct, managed to get over 
accidents. For they stuck, with that fidelity 
which is lost by education, to Rodney Bluett, as 
soon as ever poor father Davy failed them. But 
this is a melancholy subject, and must soon be 
done with. 

Let me, then, not dw"ell upon this visitation of 
the Lord for a moment longer than the claims 
of nation and of kin combine to make it needful. 
Nor did it seem to matter much for a long time ^ 
w'hat became of me. The very first thing I re- 
member, after months of wandering, has some- 
thing to do with the hush of waves, and the soft 


152 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


breath of heaven spread over me. Also, kind 
young voices seemed to be murmuring around 
me, with a dear regard and love, and sense of 
pretty watchfulness ; and tbe sound of my native 
tongue as soft as the wool of a nest to my bosom. 

Because I was lying in a hammock, slung by 
Colonel Lougher’s orders, between the very same 
mooring-posts (at about half-tide in Newton Bay), 
which truly enabled the sons of Devon to make 
such a safe job of stealing his rocks. Not only 
the colonel, but Lady Bluett, who generally led 
bis judgment, felt by this time the pleasure of 
owing true gratitude to somebody. My fatherly 
care of the young lieutenant had turned him out 
so nobly. 

It misbecomes me to speak of this ; and it 
misbecame me to speak at all, with the sea- 
breeze flowing over me, the first words of knowl- 
edge that I had spoken for how long I know not. 
Nothing can be too high, or too low, for human 
nature at both ends : but I ought to have known 
better than to do the thing I did. 

“ Give me a pipe,” was all I said ; and then I 
tui'hed away, and cared not whether I got my 
pipe, or whether the rising tide extinguished me. 

“Here is your pipe, sir,” came in a beautiful 
voice from down below me ; ‘ ‘ and we have the 
tinder ready. Bunny, let me do it now.” 

That pipe must have saved my life. Eveiy 
body said so. It came and went in curls of com- 
fort through the hollow, dying places of my head, 
that had not even blood enough to call for it ; 
and then it never left my soul uneasy about any 
thing. Hammock and all must have gone afloat 
with the rapid rise of the spring, except for Col- 
onel Lougher’s foresight. 

Who was it that watched me so, and would 
have waited by my side until the waves were 
over her? Who was it that kept on listening, to 
let me know, while I could not speak? Who 
was it that gave a little bit of a sigh, every now 
and then, and then breathed hard to smother it ? 
Who was it, or who could it be, in the whole 
wide world, but Bardie ? 

Not only this, but when I began to be up to 
real sense again, the kindness of every one around 
me made me fit for nothing. In the w'eakness of 
expecting all to take advantage of me (as is done 
in health and spirits), all the weakness I could 
find was in my friends and neighbors always la- 
boring to encourage me. This, to my mind, 
proves almost the wrongness of expecting people 
to be worse than w^e are. 

That winter was the most severe, all over 
Western Europe, known for five-and-fifty years. 
I well remember the dreadful winter a.d. 1740, 
wlien the Severn was frozen with a yard of ice, 
and the whole of the Bristol Channel blocked 
with icebergs like great hay-ricks. Twelve peo- 
ple ^vere frozen to death in our parish, and seven 
were killed through the ice on the sea. The win- 
ter of 1705 was nothing to be compared to that ; 
nevertheless, it was very furious, and killed more 
than we could spare of our very oldest inhabit- 
ants. 

And but for the extraordinary kindness of 
Colonel Lougher, that winter must have killed 
not only me in my weak and worn-out condition, 
. but also tbe poor maid of Sker, if left to encoun- 
ter the cold in that iceberg. For, truly speaking, 
the poor old house was nothing else through that 
winter. The snow in swirUng sheets of storm 


first wrapped it up to the window’-sills ; and then - 
in a single night overleaped gables, roofs, and 
chimney-tops. Moxy and Watkin passed a month 
of bitter cold and darkness, but were lucky enough 
to have some sheep who kept them warai out- 
side, and warmed their insides afterwards. And 
after that the thaw came. But all this time there 
was nobody in my little cottage at Newton but 
poor Roger Berkrolles, and how he kept soul and 
body together is known to none save himself and 
Heaven. For Colonel Lougher and Lady Bluett, 
at the very beginning of the frost, sent down my 
old friend, Crumpy the butler, to report upon my 
condition, and to give his candid opinion what 
was the best thing to do with me. After that 
long struggle now (thanks to a fine constitution 
and the death of the only doctor anywhere on 
our side of Bridgend), I had begun to look up a 
little, and to know the time of day. Crumpy felt 
my pulse, and nodded, and then prescribed the 
only medicine which his own experience in life 
had ever verified. Port-wine, he said, was the 
only thing to put me on my legs again. And 
this he laid before the colonel with such absence 
of all doubt, that on the very same afternoon a 
low and slow carriage was sent for me, and I 
found myself laid in a very snug room, with the 
fire-light dancing in the reflection of the key of 
the wine-cellar. Also, here was Bardie flitting, 
light as a gnat in spring-time, and Bunny to be 
had whenever any body wanted her. Only her 
scantling and her tonnage unfitted her for frigate 
serGce. 

What had a poor old fellow like me — as in 
weak moments I called myself — ever done, or 
even suffered, to deserve to find the world an inn 
of good Samaritans ? I felt that it was all of 
pure unreasonable kindness — the veiy thing 
which a man of spirit can not bear to put up 
with. I have felt this often, Avhen our parson 
discoursed about our gracious Lord, and all the 
things He did for us. A man of proper self-re- 
spect would like to have had a voice in it. 

This, however (as Hezekiah told us in the 
cockpit, after we had pickled him), might be safe- 
ly attributed to the force of unregeneracy ; while 
a man who is down in luck, and constitution also, 
trusts to any stout mortal for a loan of ortho- 
doxy. And so did I to our Rector Lougher, 
brother of the colonel, a gentleman who had 
bought my fish, and felt my spiritual needs. To 
him I listened (for well he read), especially a 
psalm to which I could forever listen, full of no- 
ble navigation, deeper even than our soundings in 
the Bay of Biscay. 

Every night we used to wonder where Lieu- 
tenant Bluett was, knowing as we did from my 
descriptions (when the hob was hot) what it is to 
be at sea with all the rigging freezing. When 
the blocks are clogged with ice, and make mys- 
terious groanings, and the shrouds have grown a 
beard as cold as their own name is, and the deck ^ 
begins to slip ; and all the watch, with ropes to 
handle, spit upon their palms, and strike them 
(dancing with their toes the while), one man to 
another man’s, hoping to see sparks come out. 

So it is, I can assure you, who have never been 
at sea, when the barbs of icy spray by a freezing 
wind are driven, like a volley of langrel-shot rak- 
ing the ship from stem to stern, shriveling blue 
cheeks and red noses, shattering quids from the 
chattering teeth. Many a time in these bitter 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


153 


nights, with the roar of east wind through the 
fir-trees, and the rattle of doors in the snow- 
drift, I felt ashamed of my cozy berth, and could 
not hug my comfort, from thinking of my an- 
cient messmates turned to huddled icicles. 

But all was ordained for the best, no doubt; 
for, supposing that I had been at sea througb the 
year 1795, or even 1796, what single general ac- 
tion was there worthy of my presence ? It might 
have been otherwise with me there, and in a lead- 
ing position. However, even of this I can not 
by any means be certain, for seamen quite as 
brave and skillful were afloat at that very time. 
However, beyond a few frigate actions, and mat- 
ters far away from home, at the Cape, or in the 
East Indies, I did not hear of any thing that I 
need have longed much to partake in. So that 
I did not repent of accepting a harbor appoint- 
ment at Plymouth, which (upon my partial re- 
covery) was obtained for me by Sir Philip Bamp- 
fylde, an old friend of the port admiral there. 

For that good Sir Philip was a little uneasy, 
after shipping me off last autumn, lest he might 
have behaved with any want of gratitude towards 
me. Of course he had done nothing of the kind ; 
for in truth I had raved for my countiy so — as I 
came to learn long afterwards — that when all the 
risk of infection was over, the doctor from Barn- 
staple said that my only chance of recovering 
reason lay in the air of my native land. But, at 
any rate, this kind baronet thought himself bound 
to come and look after me, in the spring of the 
year when the buds were awake, and the iron 
was gone from the soul of the earth again. He 
had often promised that fine old tyrant Anthony 
Stew to revisit him*, so now he resolved to kill 
two birds with one stone, as the saying is. 

I had returned to my cottage now, but being 
still very frail and stupid, in spite of port-wine 
every day, I could not keep the tears from start- 
ing, when this good and great land-owner bent 
his silver head beneath my humble lintel, and 
forbade me, in his calm, majestic manner, to think 
for a moment of dousing my pipe. And even 
Justice Stew, who of course took good care to 
come after him, did not use an uncivil word 
when he saw what Sir Philip thought of me. 

“Sir,” said the general to the squire, after 
shaking hands most kindly with me, “this is a 
man whom I truly respect. There seems to be 
but one opinion about him. I call him a noble 
specimen of your fellow-countrymen.” 

“Yes, to be sure,” answered Anthony Stew ; 
“but my noble fellow-countrymen say that I am 
an Irishman.” 

“No doubt whatever about that, your wor- 
ship,” was the proper thing for me to reply*, but 
the condition of my head forbade me almost to 
shake it. If it had pleased the Lord to give me 
only a dozen holes and scars — which could not 
matter at my time of life — there would not by 
any means have arisen, as all the old women of 
Newton said, this sad pressure on the brain-pan, 
and difficulty of coping even with a man of An- 
thony Stew’s kind. But, alas! instead of open- 
ing out, the subtle plague struck inward, leaving 
not a sign outside, but a delicate transparency. 

This visit from Sir Philip did not end without 
a queer affair, whereof I had no notice then, be- 
ing set down by all the village as only fit to poke 
about among the sand-hills, and then to die. But 
no one could take the church-clock from me till 


the bell should be tolling for me ; and as a mat- 
ter of duty I drew some long arrears of salaiy. 

It seems that Sir Philip drove down one day 
from Pen Coed to look after me, and, having 
done this with his usual kindness, spread word 
through the children (who throughout our lane 
abounded) that really none of his money remain- 
ed for any more sticks of peppermint. It was 
high time for them to think, he said, after ever 
so much education, of earning from sevenpence 
to tenpence a week, for the good of the babies 
they carried. All the children gathered round 
him at this fine idea, really not believing quite 
that the purse of such a gentleman could have 
nothing more to say. And the girls bearing 
babes were concave in the back, while the boys 
in the same predicament stuck out clumsily 
where their spines were setting. 

“Drive me away,” said Sir Philip to the 
groom; “drive me straight away anywhere: 
these Welsh children are so clever, I shall have 
no chance with them.” 

“Indeed, your honor, they is,” said the groom, 
with a grin, as behooved a Welshman. “ Would 
your honor like to go down by the sea, and see 
our beautiful water-rocks, and our old annshent 
places ?” 

“To be sure,” said Sir Philip* “the very 
thing. We have four hours’ time to dinner yet , 
and I fear I have worn out poor Llewellyn. 
Now follow the coast-line, if you are sure that 
your master would like it, Lewis, with this young 
horse, and our weight behind.” 

“Your honor, nothing ever comes amiss to 
this young horse here. ’Tis tire I should like to 
see him, for a change, as we do say. And mas- 
ter do always tell me keep salt-water on his legs 
whenever.” 

“Right!” cried Sir Philip, who loved the 
spree, being as full of spirits still, when the air 
took his trouble out of him, as the young horse 
in the shafts was. 

So they drove away over the sands toAvards 
Sker, which it is easy enough to do with a good 
strong horse and a light car behind him. And 
by this time the neighborhood had quite forgot- 
ten all its dread of sand-storms. In about half 
an hour they found themselves in a pretty place 
of grass and furze known as the Lock’s Com- 
mon, which faces the sea over some low cliffs, 
and at the western end coves doAvn to it. This 
is some half a mile from Sker House, and a rag- 
ged dry wall makes the parish boundary, sever- 
ing it from Sker-land. 

“Drive on,” cried Sir Philip; “I enjoy all 
this : I call this really beautiful, and this fine 
sward reminds me of Devonshire. But they 
ought to plant some trees here.” 

The driver replied that there was some dan- 
ger in driving through Sker warren, unless one 
knew the ground thoroughly, on account of the 
number of rabbit-holes; and the baronet, Avith 
that true regard which a gentleman feels for the 
horse of a friend, canceled his order immediate- 
ly. “But,” he continued, “I am so thirsty 
that I scarcely knoAV Avhat to do. My friend 
Llewellyn’s hospitality is so overpoAvering. The 
taste of rum is almost unknoAvn to me , but I 
could not refuse Avhen he pressed me so. It has 
made me confoundedly thirsty, LeAvis.” 

“Your honor,” said LeAvis, “just round that 
corner, in a little break of the rocks, there is one 


154 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


of the finest springs in Glamorgan, ‘ Ffynnon 
^yen’ we cull it, the water does be sparkling so.” 

The groom, having no cup to fetch the water, 
stood by the horse in the little pant or combe ; 
while old Sir Philip went down to the shore, to 
drink as our first forefather drank, and Gideon’s 
men in the Bible. Whether he lapped or dipped, 

I know not (probably the latter, at his time of 
life), anyhow he assuaged his thirst — which rum 
of my quality could not have caused in a really 
sound constitution, after taking no more than a 
thimbleful — and then for a moment he sat on a 
rock, soothed by the purling water, to rest and 
to look around him. The place has no great 
beauty, as of a sea-side spring in Devonshire, but 
more of cheer and life about it than their ferny 
grottoes. The bright water breaks from an el- 
bow of rock, in many veins all uniting, and with- 
out any cliff above them ; and then, after rush- 
ing a very few yards through set stone and loose 
shingle, loses its self-will upon the soft sand, and 
spreads away over a hundred yards of vague 
W'etness and shallow shining. 

The mild sun of April was glancing on this, 
and the tide just advancing to see to it, when the 
shadow of a slim figure fell on the stones before 
Sir Philip. So quietly had she slipped along, 
and appeared from tlie rocks so suddenly, that 
neither old man nor young maiden thought of 
the other until their eyes met. 

“What, why, who?” cried the general, with 
something as much like a start as good conscience 
and long service had left in him : “ who are you ? 
Who are you, my dear ?” 

For his eyes were fixed on a fair young dam- 
sel of some fifteen summers, standing upright, 
with a pad on her head, and on the pad a red 
pitcher. Over her shoulders, and down to her 
waist, fell dark-brown curls abundantly, full of I 
glejiming gold where the sun stole through the 
rocks to dwell in them. Her dress was nothing 
but blue Welsh flannel, gathered at the waist and ! 
tucked in front, and her beautifully tinted legs 
and azure-veined feet shone under it. 

“Who are you, my pretty creature?” Sir 
Philip Bampfylde asked again, while she opened 
her gray eyes wide at him. 

“ Y Ferch o’r Seer, Syr,” she answered, shyly, 
and with the strong guttural tone which she 
knew was unpleasant to English ears. For it , 
w'as her sensitive point that she could not tell [ 
any one who she was ; and her pride (which was { 
manifold) always led her to draw back from 
questions. I 

On the other hand, the old man’s gaze of | 
strong surprise and deep interest faded into mere j 
admiration at the sound of our fine language. j 

‘ ‘ Fair young Cambrian, I have asked you | 
rudely, and you are displeased with me. Lift 
your curls, my little dear, and let me see your , 
face awhile. I remember one just like it. There, ! 
you are put out again ! So it was with the one 
I mean, when any thing happened hastily. ” 

The beautiful girl flung back her hair, and 
knelt to stoop her pitcher in the gurgling runnel , 

' and then she looked at his silver locks, and was 
sorry for her impatience. 

“ Sir, I beg you to forgive me, if I have been 
rude to you. I am the maid from the old house 
yonder. I am often sent for this water, because 
it sparkles much more than our own does. If 
you please, I must go home, sir. ” 


She filled the red pitcher, and tucked the blue 
skirt, as girls alone can manage it; and Sir 
Philip Bampfylde sighed at thinking of his age 
and loneliness, while with an old-fashioned gen- 
tleman’s grace he lifted the pitcher and asked no 
more upon whose head he laid it. 


CHAPTER LVIII. 

MORE HASTE, LESS SPEED. 

To do what is thoroughly becoming and 
graceful is my main desire. That any man 
should praise himself, and insist upon his own 
exploits and services to his native land, or even 
should let people guess at his valor by any man- 
ner of side-wind — such a course W’ould simply 
deprive me of the only thing a poor battered 
sailor has left to support him against his pen- 
sion ; I mean, of course, humble, but nevertheless 
well-grounded, self-respect. 

This delicacy alone forbids me even to allude 
to that urgent and universal call for my very 
humble services which launched me on the briny 
waves once more, and in time for a share in the 
glorious battle fought off Cape St. Vincent. 
Upon that great St. Valentine’s Day of 1797, I 
was Master of the Excellent^ under Captain Col- 
lingwood ; and every boy in the parish knows 
how we captured the Saint Isidore, and really 
took the Saint Nicholas, though other people 
got the credit, and nearly took a four-decked 
ship of 130 guns, whose name was the Saint 
Miss Trinder, and who managed to sneak away, 
when by all rights we had got her. 

However, let us be content with things beyond 
contradiction ; the foremost of which is, that no 
ship ever was carried into action in a more mas- 
terly style than the Excellent upon that occasion. 
And the weight of this falls on the master, far 
more than the captain, I do assure you. So 
highly were my skill and coolness commended in 
the dispatches, that if I could have borne to be 
reduced below inferior men, I might have died a 
real captain in the British navy. For (as hap- 
pened to the now Captain Bowen, when master 
of the Queen Charlotte^ I was offered a lieuten- 
ant’s commission, and doubted about accepting 
it. Had I been twefity years younger, of course, 
I must have jumped at the offer ; but at my time 
of life, and with all my knowledge, it would have 
been too painful to be ordered about by some 
young dancer ; therefore I declined ; at the same 
time thinking it fair to suggest, for the sake of 
the many true Britons now dependent upon me, 
that a small pecuniary remittance w^ould meet 
with my consideration. That faculty of mine, 
however, was not called to the encounter : I nev- 
er heard more about it, and had to be satisfied 
with glory. But if a man is undervalued often, 
and puts up with it, he generally finds that for- 
tune treats him with respect in other more seri- 
ous aspects. For instance, what would have 
happened if Providence had ordained to send me 
into either of those sad mutinies which disgi’aced 
our fleets so terribly ? That deep respect for au- 
thority which (like the yolk of a nest-egg) lies 
calmly inside me, waiting to be sat upon ; as 
i well as my inborn sense of Nature’s resistless de- 
, tennination to end by turning me into a gentle- 
1 man (indications of which must have long ago 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


155 


been perceived by every reader), not to mention j 
any common sense of duty in the abstract and 
wages in the pocket — these considerations must * 
liave led me to lay a pistol to the head of almost j 
every man I could find. However, from such a | 
course of action grace and mercy preserved me : 
and perhaps it was quite as well. For I am not 
sure that I could have stopped any one of the 
four mutinies entirely ; although I can answer 
for it, that never would bad manners take the 
lead in any ship while I was master. It is the 
shilly-shallying that produces all the mischief. 
If all our captains had behaved like Captain 
Peard and his first lieutenant in the St. George, 
off Cadiz, at the first spread of disaffection, it is 
my opinion that a great disgrace and danger 
would have been crushed in the bud. But what 
could be expected when our Government showed 
the like weakness ? Twice they w'ent hankering 
after peace, and even sent ambassadors ! Who 
can ram shot home with pleasure while things of 
this kind are encouraged ? To fight it -out is the 
true Christianity, ordered by the Church itself. 

And this we did, and are doing still, as Roger 
Berkrolles prophesied ; and the only regret I have 
about it is, that a stiffness in my knees enables 
the other boarders to take a mean advantage of 
their youth, and jump into the chains or port- 
holes of a ship (when by my tactics conquered), 
so as to get a false lead of me. However, no 
small consolation was to be gained by reflecting 
how much more prize-money would accnie to me 
than to any of these forward fellows, so that one 
might with an unmoved leg contemplate their 
precipitancy. 

Even a sorer grievance was the breaking up 
and dispersion of our noble and gallant ship’s 
company, so long accustomed to one another 
and to sharp discipline in the Defense. Where 
was Captain Bampfylde? w'ere was Lieutenant 
Rodney Bluett ? What was beconm of our three 
fine savages ? Even Heaviside and Ilezekiah 
were in my thoughts continually, and out of my 
knowledge entirely. As to the latter worthy 
gunsmith, “Artillerist to the King and Queen, 
and all the Royal Family,” I can only at present 
say that wdien I had been last at home, and be- 
fore my acceptance of that brief appointment in 
the Plymouth dock-yard — in short, when first 
I recovered strength, after that long illness, to 
cope with the walk both to and fro — I found oc- 
casion to go to Bridgend, with my uniform on 
for the sake of the town. I had not turned the 
corner of the bridge a good half-hour before that 
important fact was known from the river-bank 
to the church-yard. And Griffith, of the “Cat 
and Snuffers,” set up such a Welsh hurrah [as 
good as the screech of a wild-cat trapped] that it 
went up the hill to Newcastle. In a w’ord, Hep- 
zibah heard of me, and ran down the hill, like a 
roaring lion, demanding her Hezekiah ! 

What ensued is painful to me even now to 
speak of. For though my conscience was refit- 
ting, and ready to knock about again, after car- 
rying too much sail, I could not find it in my 
heart to give the mother of a rapid family noth- 
ing but lies to feed upon. Many men of noble 
nature dwell upon nothing but conscience ; as if 
that were the one true compass for a man to steer 
by ; whereas I never did find a man — outside my 
own Sunday clothes — whose conscience would not 
back him up in whatever he had a mind for. 


IMy own had always w'orked like a power plain- 
ly exposed to every one ; thereby gaining strength, 
and revolving as fast as a mountain windmill 
when the corn is falling away to chaff. This, 
however, was not required in the present in- 
stance ; for Hepzibah (like a good woman) fell 
from one extreme into the opposite. From bit- 
ter reviling to praise and gratitude was but a turn 
of the tongue to her ; especially when I happened 
to whisper into the ear of Griffith that the whole 
of my stipend for Newton Church clock would 
now, according to my views of justice, be handed 
to Hezekiah’s wife, inasmuch as the worthy gun- 
smith had rejoined the Church of England. And 
I said what a dreadful blow this would be to all 
the Nicodemites, when the gun-officer returned 
with money enough to build a chapel : however, 
I felt that it served them right, because they had 
lately begun to sneer at his good wife’s wonderful 
prophecies. In a word, I had promised to find 
Hezekiah ; and, both while in harbor and now 
when afloat, I tried to get tidings not only of 
him, but also of the Newton tailor, and Heavi- 
side, and the three wild men, as well as young 
Hariy Savage, Lieutenant Bluett, and Ca])tain 
Bampfylde. For all of these being at sea and in 
war-time, who could say Avhat had befallen them ? 
Whereas I know all about most of our people 
now living ashore in the middle of peace. How- 
ever, of course one must expect old shipmates to 
be parted ; and with all the vast force now afloat 
under the British flag, it w'ould almost be a won- 
der if any of us should haul our wind within hail- 
ing distance of the others during our cvuise in 
this world. 

Nevertheless it did so happen, as I plainly will 
set forth, so far as I remember. Through the 
rest of the year ’97 and the early part of the fol- 
lowing year I was knocking about off and on 
near the Straits, being appointed to another ship 
while the Excellent was refitting, and afterwards 
to the Goliath, a fine 74, under Captain Foley. 

In the month of May, 1798, all our Mediterra- 
nean fleet, except three ships of the line, lay 
blockading Cadiz. Our admiral, the Earl St. 
Vincent, formerly Sir John Jervis, had orders 
also to watch Toulon, where a great fleet was as- 
sembling. And our information was so scant 
and contradictory, that our admiral sent but three 
ships of the line and a frigate or two to see what 
those crafty Frenchmen might be up to. But 
this searching squadron had a commander whose 
name was Horatio Nelson. 

This was not by any means the man to let frog- 
eaters do exactly as they pleased with us. “I 
believe in the King of England ; I have faith in 
discipline ; I abhor all Frenchmen worse than 
the very devil.” Such was his creed ; and at 
any moment he w'ould give his life Jbr it. It is 
something for a man to know what he means, and 
be able to put it clearly ; and this alone fetches 
to his side more than half of the arguers who can 
not make their minds up. But it is a much rarer 
gift, and not often combined with the other, for 
a man to enter into, and be able to follow up, 
ways and turns, and ins and outs, of the natures 
of all other men. If this is done by practiced 
subtlety, it arouses hatred, and can get no farther. 
But if it be a gift of nature exercised unwittingly, 
and with kind love of manliness, all wdio are 
worth bringing over are brought over by it. 

If it were not hence, I know not whence it was 


156 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


that Nelson had such power over eveiy man of 
us. To know what he meant, to pronounce it, 
and to perceive what others meant, these three 
powers enabled him to make all the rest mean 
what he did. At any rate, such is my opinion ; 
although I would not fly in the foce of better 
scholars than myself, who declared that here was 
witchcraft. What else could account for the 
manner in which all Nelson’s equals in rank at 
once acknowledged him as the foremost, and felt 
no jealousy towards him ? Even Admiral Earl 
St. Vincent, great commander as he was, is said 
to have often deferred to the judgment of the 
younger officer. As for the men, they all looked 
upon it as worth a gold watch to sail under him. 
Therefore we officers of the in-shore squadron, 
under Captain Troubridge, could scarcely keep 
our crews from the most tremendous and up- 
roarious cheers when we got orders to make sail 
for the Mediterranean, and place ourselves under 
the command of Nelson. We could not allow 
any cheering, because the Dons ashore were not 
to know a word about our departure, lest they 
should inform the Crappos, under whose orders 
they now were acting. And a British cheer has 
such a ring over the waters of the sea, and leaps 
from wave to wave so, that I have heard it a 
leagug away when roused up well to windward. 
So our fine fellows had leave to cheer to their 
hearts’ content when we got our offing; and 
partly under my conduct (for I led the way in 
the Goliath'), nine seventy-fours got away to sea 
in the night of the 24th of May, and nine liners 
from England replaced them, without a single 
Jack Spaniard ever suspecting any movement. 
Every one knows what a time we had of it after 
joining our admiral ; how we dashed away hel- 
ter-skelter, from one end of the world to the oth- 
er almost, in a thorough wild-goose chase, be- 
cause the Board of Admiralty, with their usual 
management, sent thirteen ships of the line es- 
pecially on a searching scurry, without one frigate 
to scout for them! We Avere obliged to sail, of 
course, Avithin signaling distance of each other, 
and so that line of battle might be fonued Avith- 
out delay, upon appearance of the enemy. For 
Ave now had a man Avhose signal Avas, “Go at 
’em Avhen you see ’em. ” Also, as alAA-ays comes 
to pass Avhen the sons of Beelzebub are abroad, 
a thick haze lay both day and night upon the face 
of the AA'ater. So that, while sailing in close or- 
der upon the night of the shortest day, Ave are 
Si’. id to haA’e crossed the Avake of the Frenchmen, 
almost ere it greAv Avhite again, Avithout even snif- 
fing their roasted frogs. Possibly this is true, 
in spite of all the great Nelson’s vigilance ; for I 
Avent to my hammock quite early that night, hav- 
ing suffered much from a holloAv eye-tooth ever 
since I lost sight of poor Polly. 

Admiral Nelson made no mistake. He had 
in the highest degree what is called in human 
nature “genius,” and in dogs and horses “in- 
stinct.” That is to say, he kneAV hoAv to sniff 
out the road to almost any thing. Trusting to 
this tenfold (when he found that our Government 
Avould not hear of it, but was nearly certain of a 
mighty landing upon Ireland), off he set for 
Egypt, carrying on with every blessed sail that 
Avould or eA"en Avould not draAV. We came to 
that coast at a racing speed, and you should have 
seen his A^exation Avhen there Avas no French ship’ 
in the roadstead. “I haA’e made a false cast. 


Troubridge,” he cried; “I shall Avrite to be su- 
perseded. My want of judgment may prove fa- 
tal to my king and country. ” 

For our Government had sent him word, 
through the Earl St. Vincent, that the great ex- 
pedition from Toulon AA’ould sail for England or 
Ireland ; and he at his peril had taken upon him 
to reject such nonsense. But now (as happens 
by Nature’s justice to all very sanguine men) he 
Avas ready to smite the breast that had suggested 
pure truth to him. Thus being baffled, Ave made 
! all sail, and after a chase of six hundred leagues, 
j and continually beating to AvindAA’ard, Avere forced 
to bear up on St. Swithin’s Day and make for the 
coast of Sicily. And it shows the A’alue of good 
old hands, and thoroughly sound experience, that 
I, the oldest man perhaps in the fleet, could alone 
guide the fleet into Syracuse. Here our fierce 
excitement bubbled while we took in Avater. 

■ ■ ^ ■ ■ ' ' 

CHAPTER LIX. 

IX A ROCKY BOAA’ER. 

I NEVER hear of human impatience without 
sagely reflecting upon the rapid flight of time, 
Avhen age draAvs on, and business thickens, and 
all the gloiy of this Avorld must soon be left be- 
hind us. From the date of my great catch of 
fish and landing of Bardie at Pool Tavan, to the 
day of my guiding the British fleet betAveen the 
shoals of Syracuse, more than sixteen years had 
passed, and scarce left time to count them. 

Therefore it Avas but a natural thing that the 
tAvo little maidens Avith Avhom I began should now 
be grown up, and creating a stir in the minds of 
young men of the neighborhood. Early in this 
present month of July, that north-Avest breeze, 
which Avas baffling our fleet off the coast of Ana- 
tolia, Avas playing among the rocks of Sker Avith 
the curls and skirts and ribbons of these tAV’O fair 
young damsels. Or rather Avith the ribbons of 
one, for Bunny alone wore streamers, Avherein 
her heart delighted ; while the maid of Sker AA’as 
dressed as plainly as if she had been her servant. 
Not that her inborn love of brightness ever had 
abandoned her, but that her vanities Avere put 
doAvn very sternly by Master Berkrolles when- 
ever she came back from Candleston ; and but 
for her lessons in music there — which Avere be- 
yond Roger’s compass — he Avould have raised his 
voice against her visits to the good colonel. For 
the old man’s heart AA'as entirely fixed upon the 
graceful maiden, and his chief anxiety Avas to 
keep her out of the way of harm. He kncAv that 
the colonel loA’ed nothing better (as behooved his 
lineage) than true and free hospitality ; and he 
feared that the simple and nameless girl inight 
set her affections on some grand guest, Avho 
Avould scorn her derelict origin. Noav she led 
Bunny into a caA’e, or rather a snug little coA’e 
of rock, Avhich she always called her cradle, and 
Avhere she had spent many lonely hours, in sing- 
ing pure Welsh melodies of the SAveetest sadness, 
feeling a love of the desert places from her oavu 
desertion. Then doAvn she sat in her chair of 
stone, Avith limpets and barnacles studding it ; 
while Bunny in the established manner bounced 
doAvn on a pebble and gazed at her. 

My son’s daughter was a solid girl, very Avell 
built as our family is, and raking most hand- 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


157 


somely fore and aft. Her fine black eyes, and 
abiding color, and the modesty inherited from 
her grandfather, and some reflection perhaps of 
his frame, made her a favorite eveiTwhere. And 
any grandfather might well have been proud to 
see how she carried her dress off. 

The younger maid sat right above her, quite as 
if Nature had ordered it so ; and drew her skirt 
of homespun camlet over her dainty feet, because 
the place was wet and chilly. And any body 
looking must have said that she was born to 
grace. The clear outlines of oval face and deli- 
cate strength of forehead were molded as by 
Nature only can such dainty work be done. 
Gentle pride and quiet moods of lonely medita- 
tion had deepened and subdued the radiance of 
the large gray eyes, and changed the dancing 
mirth of childhood into soft intelligence. And 
it must have been a fine affair, with the sunshine 
glancing on the breezy sea, to take a look at the 
lights and shadows of so clear a countenance. 

Bunny, like a frigate riding, doused her head 
and all her outworks forward of the bends-, and 
then hung fluttering and doubtful, just as if she 
had missed stays. 

“ It is not your engagement, my dear Bunny,” 
began Delushy, as if she were ten years the sen- 
ior officer ; “you must not suppose for a moment 
that I object to your engagement. It is time, of 
course, for you to think, among so many suitors, 
of some one to put up with, especially after what 
you told me about having toothache. And Wat- 
kin is thoroughly good and kind, and able to 
read quite respectably. But what I blame you 
for is this, that you have not been straightfor- 
ward, Bunny. Why have you kept me in the 
dark about this one of your many ‘ sweetheart- 
ings,’ as you always call them?” 

“ And for sure, miss, then I never did no such 
thing ; unless it was that I thought you was 
wanting him.” 

“ I ! You surely can not have thought it ! I 
want Watkin Thomas !” ■ 

“Well, miss, you need not fly out like that. 
All the girls in Newton was after him. And if 
it wasn’t you as wanted him, it might be him as 
wanted you, wliich comes to the same thing al- 
W'ays.” 

“I don’t quite think that it does, dear Bunny, 
though you may have made it do so. Now look 
up and kiss me, dear : you know that I love you 
very much, though I have a way of saying things. 
And then I am longing to beg pardon when I 
have vexed any one. It comes of my ‘noble 
birth,’ I suppose, which the girls of Newton 
laugh about. How I wish that I were but the 
child of the poorest good man in the parish! 
But now I am tired of thinking of it. What 
good ever comes of it ? And what can one poor 
atom matter ?” 

“You are no^ a poor atom ,- you are the best, 
and the cleverest, and most learnedest, and most 
beautifullest lady as ever was seen in the whole 
of the land.” 

After or rather in the middle of which words, 
our Bunny, with her usual vigor and true nation- 
al ardor, leaped into the arms of Delushy, so that 
they had a good cry together. “You will wait, 
of course, for your Granny to come, before you 
settle any thing,” 

“Will I, indeed?” cried that wicked Bunny, 
and lucky for her that I was not there: “I shall 


do nothing of the sort. If he chooses to be al- 
ways away at sea, conquering the French for- 
ever, and never coming home, when he can help 
it, he must make up his mind to be surprised 
when he happens to come home again. For 
sure then, that is right enough.” 

“Well, it does seem almost reasonable,” an- 
swered the young lady ; “and I think sometimes 
that we have no right to expect so much as that 
of things. It is not what they often do ; and so 
they lose the habit of it.” 

“ I do not quite understand,” said Bunny. 

“And I don’t half understand,” said Bardie ; 
“but — oh my dear, what shall I do? He is 
coming this way, I am sure. And I would not 
have you know any thing of it ; and of course 
you must feel that it is all nonsense. And I did 
not mean any harm about ‘ courting;’ only you 
ought to be out of the way, and yet at the same 
time in it.” 

Our Bunny w'as such a slow-witted girl, and at 
the same time so particular (inheriting slowness 
from her good mother, and conscience from third 
generation), that really she could make no hand 
at meeting such a crisis. For now she began to 
perceive gold lace, which alone discomfits the 
woman race, and sets their minds going upon 
what they love. And so she did very little else 
but stare. 

“ I did think you would have helped me. Bun- 
ny,” Delushy cried, with aggrievement. “I 
wanted to hear your own affairs, of course ; but 
I would not have brought you here — ” 

“Young ladies, well met!” cried as solid a 
voice as the chops of the Channel had ever taut- 
ened: “I knew that you were here, and so I 
came down to look after you.” 

“Sure then, sir, and I do think that it is very 
kind of you. We was just a-wanting looking aff 
ter. Oh what a fish I do see in that pool ! Please 
only you now both to keep back. I shall be back 
again, now just, sir.” With these words away 
flew Bunny, as if her life were set on it. 

“ What a fine creature, to be sure !” said Com- 
mander Bluett, thoughtfully; “ she reminds me 
so much of her grandfather. There is some- 
thing so strongly alike between them, in their 
reckless outspoken honor, as well as in the turn 
of the nose they have.” 

“ Let us follow, and admire her a little more,” 
cried Delushy; “she deserves it, as you say; 
and perhaps — well perhaps she likes it.” 

Young Rodney looked at her a little while, and 
then at the ground a little while ; because he was 
a stupid fellow as concerns young women. He 
thought this one such a perfect w'onder, as may 
well be said of all of them. Then those two 
fenced about a little, out of shot of each other’s 
eyes. 

There was no doubt between them as to the 
meaning of each other. But they both seemed 
to think it wise to have a little bit of vexing be- 
fore doing any more. And thus they looked at 
one another as if there was nothing between 
them. And all the time, how they were longing ! 

“I must have yes or no-,” for Rodney could 
not outlast the young lady; “yes or no; you 
know what I mean. I am almost always at sea ; 
and to-morrow I start to join Nelson. With 
him there is no play-work. I hope to satisfy 
him, though I know what he is to satisfy. But 
I hope to do it.” 


158 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


“Of course you will,” Delushy answered. 
“You seem to give great satisfaction — almost 
eveiywhere, I am sure.” 

“Do I give it, you proud creature, where I 
long to give it most ?” 

“ How can I pretend to say, without being told 
in what latitude even — as I think your expression 
is — this amiable desire lies ?” 

“As if you did not know, Delushy!” 

“As if I did know, Captain Bluett! And 
another thing — I am not to be called ‘Delushy’ 
much in that way.” 

“Very well, then ^ much in another way. 
Delushy, Delushy, delicious Delushy, what makes 
you so unkind to me? To-morrow I go away, 
and perhaps we shall never meet again, Delushv, 
and then how you would reproach yourself. 
Don’t you think you would now ?” 

“When never and then come together — yes. 
I suppose all sailors talk so.” 

“ If I can not even talk to please you, there is 
nothing more to say. I think that the bards 
have turned your head with their harpings, and 
their fiddle-strings, and ballads (in very bad 
Welsh, no doubt) about ‘ the channing maid of 
Sker;’ and so on. When you are old enough to 
know better, and the young conceit wears out of 
you, you may be sorry. Miss Andalusia, for your 
wonderful cleverness.” 

He made her a bow with his handsome hat, 
and her warm young heart was chilled by it. 
Surely he ought to have shaken hands. She 
tried to keep her own meaning at home, and bid 
him farewell with a courtesy, while he tried not 
to look back again ; but fortune or nature was 
too much for them, and their eyes met wistfully. 

These things are out of m}’’ line so much, that 
I can not pretend to say now for a moment what 
these very young people did ; and every body 
else having done the same, with more or less un- 
wisdom, according to constitution, may admire 
the power of charity which restrains me from de- 
scribing them. My favorite writer of Scripture 
is St. Paul, who was afraid of nobody, and who 
spent his time in making sails when the thorn in 
the flesh permitted him. And this great writer 
describes the quick manners of maidens far bet- 
ter than I can. Wherefore I keep myself up 
aloft until they have had a good spell of it. 

“I have no opinion now. What can you ex- 
pect of me ? Rodney, I must stop and think for 
nearly a quarter of a centuiy before I have an 
opinion.” 

“ Then stay, just so ; and let me admire you, 
till I have to swim with you.” 

“Rodney, you are reckless. Here comes the 
tide; and you know I have gqf my very best 
Candleston side-lace boots on!” 

“Then come out of this rocky bower, which 
suits your fate so, darling ; and let us talk most 
sensibly.” 

“By all means, if you think we can. There, 
you need not touch me, Rodney ; I can get out 
very well indeed. I know these rocks better than 
you do, perhaps. Now sit on this rock where 
old David first hooked me, as I have heard that 
old chatter-box tell fifty times, as if he had done 
some great, great thing. ” 

“He did indeed a grand, grand thing. No 
wonder that he is proud of it. And he has so 
much to be proud of that you may take it for 
your highest compliment. Perhaps there is no 


other man in the service — or I might say in all 
the civilized world — ” But it hurts me to tell 
what this excellent officer said or even thought 
of me. He was such a first-rate judge by this 
time that I must leave his opinion blank. 

Over the sea they began to look, in a discon- 
tented quietude ; as the manner of young mortals 
is before they begin to know better, and with 
great ideas moving them. Bunny, with the very 
kindest discretion, had run away entirely, and 
might now be seen at the far end of the sands, 
and springing up the rocks, on her way to New- 
ton. So those two sat side by side, with their 
hearts full of one another, and their minds made 
up to face the world together, whatever might 
come of it. For as yet they could see nothing 
clearly through the warm haze of lo^'ing, being 
wrapped up in an atmosphere which generally 
leads to a hurricane. But to them, for a few 
short minutes, earth and sea and sky were all 
one universal heaven. 

“ It will not do,” cried the maid of Sker, sud- 
denly awaking with a short deep sigh, and draw- 
ing back her delicate hand from the broad palm 
of young Rodney; “it will never, never do. 
We must both be mad to think of it.” 

“ Who could fail to be mad,” he answered, “ if 
you set the example ?” 

“Now don’t be so dreadfully stupid, Rodney. 
What I say is most serious. Of course you know 
the w'orld better than I do, as you told me yes- 
terday, after sailing a dozen times round it. But 
I am thinking of other things. Not of what the 
world will say, but of what I myself must feel. 
And the first of these things is that I can not be 
cruelly ungrateful. It would be the deepest in- 
gratitude to the colonel if I went on with it.” 

“Went on with it! What a way to speak! 
As if you could be off wdtli it when you pleased ! 
And my good uncle loves you like his own daugh- 
ter; and so does my mother. Now what can 
you mean ?” 

“ As if you did not know indeed ! Now, Rod- 
ney, do talk sensibly. I ought to know, if any 
one does, what your uncle and your mother are. 
And I know that they would rather see your 
death in the Gazette than your marriage with an 
unknown, nameless nobody like me, sir.” 

“ Well, of course, we must take the chance of 
that,” said Captain Bluett, carelessly. “The 
colonel is the best soul in the world, and my dear 
mother a most excellent creature, whenever she 
listens to reason. But as to my asking their per- 
mission— it is the last thing I should dream of. 
I am old enough to know my own mind, and to 
get my own Imng, I should hope, as well as that 
of my family. And if I am only in time with 
Nelson, of course we shall do wonders.” 

For a minute or two the poor young maid had 
not a word to say to him. She longed to throw 
her arms around him when he spoke so proudly, 
and to indulge her own pride in him, as against 
all the world beside. But having been brought 
up in so much trouble, she had learned to check 
herself. So that she did nothing more than 
w'ait for him to go on again. ,And this he did 
with sparkling eyes and the confidence of a 
young British tar. 

“There is another thing, my beauty, which 
; they are bound to consider, as w’ell as all the 
prize-money I shall earn — and that is that they 
. have nobody except themselves to thank for it. 


THE MAID OF SICER. 


159 


They must have known what was sure to hap- 
pen, if they chose to have you there whenever I 
was home from sea. And my mother is so clev- 
er too — to my mind it is plain enough that they 
meant me to do what I have done.” 

“And pray Avhat is that?” 

“As if you did not know! Come now, you 
must pay the penalty of asking for a compli- 
ment. Talk about breeding and good birth, and 
that stuff! Why, look at your hands and then 
look at mine. Put your fingers between mine — 
both hands, both hands — that’s the way. Now 
just feel my great clumsy things, and then see 
how lovely yours are — as clear as wax-tapers, 
and just touched with rose, and every nail with 
a fairy gift, and pointed like an almond. A 
‘ nameless nobody ’ indeed ! What nameless no- 
body ever had such nails ? By way of contrast, 
examine mine.” 

“Oh, but you bite yours shockingly, Rodney. 
I am sure that you do, though I never saw you. 
You must be cured of that dreadful trick.” 

“That shall be your first job, Delushy, when 
you are Mrs. Rodney. Now for another great 
sign of birth. Do you see any peak to my up- 
per lip ?” 

“No, I can’t say I do. But how foolish you 
are ! I ought to be crying, and you make me 
laugh!” 

“Then just let me show you the peak to 
yours. Honor bright — and no mean advantages 
— that is to say, if I can help it. Oh, here’s that 
blessed Moxy coming ! May the Frenchmen rob 
her hen-roost ! Now just one promise, darling, 
darling; just one little promise. To-morrow I 
go to most desperate battles, and lucky to come 
home with one arm and one leg. Therefore, 
promise a solemn promise to have no one in the 
world but me. ” 

“I think,” said the maid, with her lips to his 
ear, in the true old coaxing fashion, “that I 
may very well promise that. But I will promise 
another thing too — and that is, not to have even 
you until your dear mother and good uncle come 
to me and ask me. And that can nei'er, never 
be.” 

o» 

CHAPTER LX. 

NELSON AND THE NILE. 

The first day of August, in the year of our 
Lord 1798, is a day to be long remembered by 
every Briton with a piece of constitution in him. 
For on that day our glorious navy, under the im- 
mortal Nelson, administered to the Frenchmen, 
under Admiral Brewer, as pure and perfect a 
lathering as is to be found in all history. This 
I never should venture to put upon my own au- 
thority (especially after the prominent part as- 
signed therein by Providence to a humble indi- 
vidual who came from Newton-Nottage), for with 
histoiy I have no patience at all, because it al- 
ways contradicts the very things I have seen and 
known: but I am bound to believe a man of 
such high principles and deep reading as Master 
Roger Berkrolles. And he tells me that I have 
helped to produce the greatest of all great vic- 
tories. 

Be that one way or the other, I can tell you 
every word concerning how we managed it ; and 
you need not for one moment think me capable 


of prejudice. Quite the contrary, I assure you. 
There could not have been in the British fleet 
any man more detennined to do justice to all 
Crappos than a thoroughly ancient navigator, 
now master of the Goliath. 

We knew exactly what to do, every captain, 
every master, every quarter-master; even the 
powder-monkeys had their proper work laid out 
for them. The spirit of Nelson ran through us 
all ; and our hearts caught fire from his heart. 
From the moment of our first glimpse at the 
Frenchmen spread out in that tempting manner, 
beautifully moored and riding in a long line head 
and stern, every old seaman among us began to 
count on his fingers prize-money. They thought 
that 'we would not fight that night, for the sun 
was low when we found them ; and with their 
perpetual conceit, they were hard at work taking 
water in. I shall never forget how beautiful 
these ships looked, and how peaceful. A French 
ship always sits the water with an elegant quick- 
ness, like a Frenchwoman at the looking-glass. 
And though we brought the evening breeze in 
very brisklj'- with us, there was hardly swell 
enough in the bay to make them play their haw- 
sers. Many fine things have I seen, and there- 
fore know pretty well how to look at them, 
which a man never can do upon the first or even 
the second occasion. But it was worth any 
man’s while to live to the age of three-score years 
and eight, with a sound mind in a sound body, 
and eyes almost as good as ever, if there were 
nothing for it more than to see what I saw at 
this moment. Six-and-twenty ships of the line, 
thirteen bearing the tricolor, and riding cleared 
for action, the other thirteen with the red cross 
flying, the cross of St. George on the ground of 
white, and tossing the blue water from their 
stems under pressure of canvass. Onward rush- 
ed our British ships, as if every one of them was 
alive, and driven out of all patience by the wicked 
escapes of the enemy. Twelve hundred leagues 
of chase had they cost us, ingratitude towards 
God every night, and love of the devil at morn- 
ing, with dread of our country forever prevailing, 
and mistrust of our own good selves. And noAv 
at last we had got them tight, and mean we' 
did to keep tliem. Captain Foley came up to 
me as I stood on the ratlines to hear the report 
of the men in the starboard fore-chains ; and his 
fine open face was clouded. “Master,” he said, 

‘ ‘ how much more of this ? D — n your soundings. 
Can’t you see that the Zealous is drawing ahead 
of us? Hood has nobody in the chains. If you 
can’t take the ship into action, I will. Stand by 
there to set top-gallant sails.” 

These had been taken in scarce five minutes 
agone, as prudence demanded, for none of us 
had any chart of the bay ; and even I knew little 
about it, except that there was a great shoal of 
rock between Aboukir Island and the van ship 
of the enemy. And but for my warning, we 
might have followed the two French brigs ap- 
pointed to decoy us in that direction. Now, 
having filled top-gallant sails, we rapidly headed 
our rival the Zealous^ in spite of all that she 
could do ; and we had the honor of receiving the 
first shot of the enemy. For now we were rush- 
ing in, stem on, having formed line of battle, to- 
wards the van of the anchored Frenchmen. 

Now as to what followed, and the brilliant idea 
which occurred tD somebody to turn the enemy’s 



160 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


line and take them on the larboard or inner side 
(on which they were quite unprepared for attack), 
no two authorities are quite agreed, simply because 
they all are wrong. Some attribute this grand 
manoeuvre to our great Admiral Nelson, others 
to Captain Hood, of the Zealous, and others to our 
Captain Foley. This latter is nearest the mark ; 
but from whom did Captain Foley obtain the 
hint? Modesty forbids me to say what Welsh- 
man it was who devised this noble and most de- 
cisive strategem, while patriot duty compels me to 
say that it was a Welshman, and more than that 
a Glamorganshire man, born in a favored part 

of the quiet village of IST N . Enough, 

unless I add that internal evidence will convince 
any unprejudiced person that none but an ancient 
fisherman, and thorough -going long -shoreman, 
could by any possibility have smelled out his way 
so cleverly. 

Our great admiral saw, with his usual insight 
into Frenchmen, that if they remained at anchor 
we were sure to man their capstans. For Crappos 
fight well enough with a rush, but unsteadily when 
at a stand-still, and worst of all when taken by 
surprise and outmanoeuvred. And the manner 
in which the British fleet advanced was enough 
to strike them cold by its majesty and its awful- 
ness. For in perfect silence we were gliding over 
the dark-blue sea, with the stately height of the 
white sails shining, and the sky behind us full of 
solemn yellow sunset. Even we, so sure of con- 
quest, and so nerved with stern delight, could not 
gaze on the things around us, and the work be- 
fore us, without for a moment wondering wheth- 
er the Lord in heaven looked down at us. 

At any rate we obeyed to the letter the orders 
both of our admiral and of a man scarcely less 
remarkable. “Let not the sun go down on your 
wrath,” are the very words of St. Paul, I believe ; 
and we never fired a shot until there was no sun 
left to look at it. I stood by the man at the 
wheel myself, and laid my own hand to it : for it 
was a matter of very fine steerage, to run in ahead 
of the French line, ware soundings, and then 
bear up on their larboard bow, to deliver a thor- 
ough good raking broadside. I remember looking 
over my left shoulder after we bore up our helm 
a- weather, while crossing the bows of the Carrier 
(as the foremost enemy’s ship was called), and 
there was the last limb of the sun like the hoof 
of a horse disappearing. And my own head 
nearly went with it, as the wind of a round-shot 
knocked me over. “Bear up, bear up, lads,” 
cried Captain Foley, “ our time has come at last, 
my boys. Well done, Llewellyn ! A finer sam- 
ple of conning and steerage was never seen. Let 
go the best bower. Pass the word. Ready at 
quarters, all of you. Now she beai*s clear fore 
and aft. D — n their eyes, let them have it !” 

Out rang the whole of our larboard battery, 
almost like a single gun , a finer thing was never 
seen ; and before the ring passed into a roar, the 
yell of Frenchmen came through the smoke. 
Masts and spars flew right and left, with the 
bones of men among them, and the sea began to 
hiss and heave, and the ships to reel and tremble, 
and the roar of a mad volcano rose, and nothing 
kept either shape or tenor, except the faces of 
brave men. 

Every ship in our fleet was prepared to anchor 
by the stern, so as to spring our broadsides aright 5 
but the anchor of the Goliath did not bite so soon 


as it should have done, so that w*e ran past the 
Carrier, and brought up on the larboard quarter 
of the second French 71, with a frigate and a 
brig of war to employ a few of our starboard guns. 
By this time the rapid darkness fell, and we fought 
by the light of our own guns. And now the skill 
of our admiral and his great ideas were manifest, 
for every French ship had two English upon it, 
and some of them even three at a time. In a 
word, we began with the head of their line, and 
crushed it, and so on, joint by joint, ere even the 
centre, and much more the tail, could fetch their 
way up to take part in it. Our antagonist was the 
first that struck, being the second of the French- 
man’s line, and by name the Conquer-ant. But 
she found in Captain Foley and David Llewellyn 
an ant a little too clever to conquer. We were 
a good deal knocked about, with most of our main 
rigging shot away, and all our masts heavily 
wounded. Nevertheless we drew ahead, to dou- 
ble upon the third French ship, of the wondeiful 
name of Sparticipate. 

From this ship I received a shot, which, but 
for the mercy of the Lord, must have made a per- 
fect end of me. That my end may be perfect 
has long been my wish, and the tenor of my life 
leads up to it. Nevertheless, who am I to deny 
that I was not ready for the final finish at that 
very moment ? And now, at this time of writ- 
ing, I find myself ready to w'ait a bit longer. 
What I mean was a chain-shot sailing along, 
rather slowly as they always do ; and yet so fast 
that I could not either duck or jump at sight of 
it, although there was light enough now for any 
thing, with the French admiral on fire. Happen- 
ing to be well satisfied with my state of mind at 
that moment (not from congratulation, so much 
as from my inside conscience), I now was begin- 
ning to fill a pipe, and to dwell upon further ma- 
noeuvres. For one of the foremost points of all, 
after thoroughly drubbing the enemy, is to keep 
a fine self-control, and be ready to go on with it. 

No sooner had I filled this pipe, and taken a 
piece of wadding to light it, which was burning 
handy (in spite of all my orders), than away went 
a piece of me ; and down went I, as dead as a 
Dutch herring. At least so every body thought 
who had time to think about it ; and “The mas- 
ter’s dead ! ” ran along the deck, so far as time 
was to tell of it. I must have lain numb for an 
hour, I doubt, with the roar of the guns, and the 
shaking of bulk-heads, like a shiver, jarring me, 
and a pool of blood curdling into me, and anoth- 
er poor fellow cast into the scuppers and clutch- 
ing at me in his groaning, when the heavens took 
fire in one red blaze, and a thundering roar, that 
might rouse the dead, drowned all the rolling bat- 
tle-din. I saw the white looks of our crew all 
aghast, and their bodies scared out of death’s 
manufircture, by this triumph of mortality; and 
the elbows of big fellows holding the linstock fell 
quivering back to their shaken ribs. For the 
whole sky was blotched with the corpses of men, 
like the stones of a crater cast upward ; and the 
sheet of the fire behind them showed their knees, 
and their bellies, and streaming hair. Thoi 
with a hiss, lij^e electric hail, from a mile’s height 
all came down again, corpses first (being softer 
things), and timbers next, and then the great spars 
that had streaked the sky like rockets. 

The violence of this matter so attracted my at- 
tention that I was enabled to rally my wits, and 


THE ^lAID OF SKER. 


161 


lean on one elbow and look at it. And I do as- 
sure you that any body who happened to be out 
of sight of it lost a finer chance than ever he can 
have another prospect of. For a hundred-and- 
twenty-gun ship had blown up, with an admiral 
and rear-admiral, not to mention a commodore, 
and at least 700 complement. And when the 
concussion was over, there fell the silence of 
death upon all men. Not a gun was fired, nor 
an order given, except to man the boats in hopes 
of saving some poor fellows. 

- ♦ 

CHAPTER LXI. 

A SAVAGE DEED. 

Nevertheless our Britons were forced to re- 
new the battle afterwards, because those French- 
men had not the manners to surrender, as they 
should have done. And they even compelled us 
to batter their ships so seriously and sadly, that 
when we took possession some were scarcely 
W'orth the trouble. To make us blow up their 
poor admiral was a distressing thing to begin 
with ; but when that was done, to go on with 
the battle was as bad as the dog in the manger. 
What good could it do them to rob a poor Brit- 
ish sailor of half his prize-money? And such 
conduct becomes at least twice as ungenerous 
when they actually have wounded him ! 

My wDund was sore, and so was I, on the fol- 
lowing day, I can tell you ; for not being now such 
a very young man, I found it a precious hard 
thing to renew the power of blood that was gone 
from me. And after the terrible scene that 
awoke me from the first trance of carnage, I was 
thrown, by the mercy of Providence, into pure 
insensibility. This I am bound to declare; be- 
cause the public might otherwise think itself 
wronged, and perhaps even vote me down as of 
no value, for failing to give them the end of this 
battle so brilliantly as the beginning. I defy my 
old rival, the Newton tailor (although a much 
younger man, perhaps, than myself, and with my 
help a pretty good seaman), to take up the tucks 
of this battle as well as I have done — though not 
well done. Even if a tailor can come up and 
fight (which he did, for the honor of Cambria), 
none of his customers can expect any more than 
French-chalk flourishes when a piece of descrip- 
tion is down in his books. However, let him cut 
his cloth. He is still at sea, or else under it ; 
and if he ever does come home and sit down to 
his shop-board — as his wife says he is sure to do 
— his very first order shall be for a church-going 
coat, with a doubled-up sleeve to it. 

For the Frenchmen took my left arm away in 
a thoroughly lubberly manner. If they had done 
it with a good cross-cut, like my old wound of 
forty years’ standing, I would at once have set it 
down to the credit of their nation. But when I 
came to dwell over the subject (as for weeks my 
duty was), more and more clear to me it be- 
came, that instead of honor they had now in- 
curred a lasting national disgrace. The fellows 
who charged that gun had been afraid of the re- 
coil of it. Half a charge of powder makes the 
vilest fracture to deal with — however, there I was 
by the heels, and now for nobler people. Only 
while my wound is green, you must not be too 
hard on me. 


The Goliath was ordered to chase down the 
bay, on the morning after the battle, together 
with the Theseus and a frigate called the Lead- 
er. This frigate was commanded by the Honor- 
able Rodney Bluett, now a post-captain, and who 
had done wonders in the height of last night’s 
combat. He had brought up in the most brazen- 
faced manner, without any sense of his metal, 
close below the starboard bow of the great three- 
decker Orient and the quarter of the Franklin^ 
and thence he fired away at both, while all their 
shot flew over him. And this was afterwards 
said to have been the cleverest thing done by all 
of us, except the fine helm and calm handling of 
H.M. ship Goliath. 

The two ships, in chase of which we were dis- 
patched, ran ashore and surrendered, as I was 
told afterwards (for of course I was down in my 
berth at the time, with the surgeon looking af- 
ter me) ; and thus, out of thirteen French sail of 
the line, we took or destroyed eleven. And as 
we bore up after taking possession, the Leader 
ran under our counter and hailed us, “Have you 
a justice of the peace on board?” Our captain 
replied that he was himself a member of the 
quorum, but could not attend to such business 
now as making of wills, and so on. Hereupon 
Captain Bluett came forward, and with a polite 
wave of his hat called out that Captain Foley 
would lay him under a special obligation, as 
well as clear the honor of a gallant naval officer, 
by coming on board of the Leader^ to receive the 
deposition of a dying man. In ten minutes’ 
time our good skipper stood in the cockpit of the 
Leader^ while Captain Bluett wrote down the 
confession of a desperately - wounded seaman, 
who was clearing his conscience of perilous wrong 
before he should face his Creator. The poor fel- 
low sat on a pallet, propped up by the bulkhead 
and a pillow ; that is to say, if a man can sit 
who has no legs left him. A round-shot had 
caught him in the tuck of both thighs, and the 
surgeon could now do no more for him. Indeed 
lie was only enabled to speak, or to gasp out his 
last syllables, by gulps of raw brandy which he 
was taking, with great draughts of water between 
them. On the other side of his dying bed stood 
cannibals Dick and Joe, howling, and nodding 
their heads from time to time, whenever he lift- 
ed his glazing eyes to them for confirmation. 
For it was my honest and highly-respected friend, 
the poor Jack Wildman, who now lay in this sad 
condition, uporvthe very brink of another world. 
And I can not do better than give his own words, 
as put into shape by two clear-witted men. Cap- 
tains Foley and Rodney Bluett. Only for the 
reader’s sake I omit a great deal of groaning. 

“ This is the solemn and dying delivery of me, 
known as ‘Jack Wildman,’ A.B. seaman of H. 
M. frigate Leader., now off the coast of Egypt, 
and dying through a hurt in battle with the 
FrencWen. I can not tell my name, or age, or 
where I was born, or any thing about myself; 
and it does not matter, as I have nothing to 
leave behind me. Dick and Joe are to have my 
clothes, and my pay if there is any; and the 
woman that used to be my wife is to have my 
medals for good behavior in the three battles I 
have partaken of. My money would be no good 
to her, because they never use it ; but the women 
are fond of ornaments. , 

“ I Avas one of a race of naked people, living 


L 


1G2 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


in holes of the earth at a place we did not know 
the name of. I now know that it was Nympton, 
in Devonshire, which is in England, they tell me. 
No one had any right to come near us, except 
the great man who had given us land and de- 
fended us from all enemies. 

“His name was Parson Chouane, I believe, 
but I do not know how to spell it. He never 
told us of a thing like God ; but I heard of it ev- 
ery day in the navy whenever my betters were 
angry. Also I learned to read wonderful writ- 
ings ; but I can speak the truth aU the same. 

“Ever since I began to be put into clothes, 
and taught to kill other people, I have longed to 
tell of an evil thing which happened once among 
us. How long ago I can not tell, for we never 
count time as you do, but it must have been 
many years back, for I had no hair on my body 
except my head. We had a man then who took 
lead among us, so far as there was any lead ; and 
I think that he thought himself my father, be- 
cause he gave me the most victuals. At any 
rate we had no other man to come near him in 
any cunningness. Our master, Chouane, came 
down sometimes, and took a pride in watching 
him, and liked him so much that he laughed at 
him, which he never did to the rest of us. 

“This man, my father as I may call him, 
took me all over the great brown moors one night 
in some very hot weather. In the morning we 
came to a great heap of houses, and hid in a 
copse till the evening. At dusk we set out again, 
and came to a great and rich house by the side 
of a river. The lower port-holes seemed full of 
lights, and on the flat place in front of them a 
band of music — such as now I love — was playing, 
and people were dancing. I had never heard 
such a thing before ; and my father had all he 
could do to keep me in the black trees out of 
sight of them. And among the thick of the go- 
ing about we saw our master, Chouane, in his 
hunting-dress. 

“This must have been what great people call 
a ‘masked ball,’ I am sure of it; since I saw 
one, when, in the Bellona, there were many wom- 
en somewhere. But at the end of the great light 
place, looking out over the water, there was a 
quiet shady place for tired people to rest a bit. 
When the whole of the music was crashing like 
a battle, and people going round like great flies 
in a web, my father led me down by the river- 
side, and sent me up some dark narrow steps, 
and pointed to two little babies. The whole of 
the business was all about these, and the festival 
was to make much of them. The nurse for a 
moment had set them upright, while she just 
spoke to a young sailor-man ; and crawling, as 
all of us can, I brought down these two babies to 
my hither ; and one tvas heavy, and the other 
light. 

“My father had scarcely got hold of them, 
and the nurse had not yet missed them, when on 
the dark shore by the river-side, perhaps five 
fathoms under the gayety. Parson Chouane came 
up to my father, and whispered, and gave orders. 
I know not what they said, for I had no sense 
of tongues then, nor desired it; for we knew 
what we wanted by signs and sounds, and saved 
a world of trouble so. Only I thought that our 
master was angry at having the girl-child brought 
away. He wanted only the boy, perhaps, who 
was sleepy and knew nothing. But the girl- 


child shook her hand at him, and said, ‘E bad 
man. Bardie knows ’a.’ 

“I — every one of us — was amazed — so very 
small — Oh, sir, I can tell you no more, I 
think.” 

“ Indeed then, but you must, my friend,” cried 
Captain Foley, with spirit enough to set a dead 
man talking ; ‘ ‘ finish this story, you thief of the 
world, before you cheat the hangman. Two 
lovely childer stolen away from a first-rate family 
to give a ball of that kind — and devil a bit you 
repent of it !” 

Poor dying Jack looked up at him, and then 
at the place where his legs should have been, and 
he seemed ashamed for the want of them. Then 
he played with the sheet for a twitch or two, as 
if proud of his arms still remaining ; and checked 
back the agony tempting him now to bite it 
with his great white teeth. 

“Ask the rest of us, captain,” he said ; “ Joe, 
you know it ; Dick, you know it, now that I am 
telling you. The boy was brought up with us, 
and you call him Harry Savage. I knew the 
great house when I saw it again. And I longed 
to tell the good old man there, but for the sake 
of our people. Chouane would have destroyed 
them all. I was tempted after they pelted me so, 
and the old man was so good to me ; but some- 
thing always stopped me, and I wanted poor Harry 
to go to heaven — Oh, a little drink of water!” 

Captain Foley was partly inclined to take a 
great deal of poor Jack’s confession for no more 
than the raving of a light-headed man ; but Rod- 
ney Bluett conjured him to take down every word 
of it. And when this young officer spoke of his 
former chief and well known friend, now Com- 
modore Sir Drake Bampfylde (being knighted for 
service in India), and how all his life he had lain 
under a cloud by reason of this very matter, not 
another word did our captain need from him, 
but took up his pen again. 

“I ought to have told,” said the dying man, 
slowly; “only I could not bring myself. But 
now you will know, you will all know now. My 
father is dead ; but Dick and Joe can swear that 
the boy is the baby. He had beautiful clothes 
on, they shone in the boat ; but the girl-child 
had on no more than a smock, that they might 
see her dancing. Our master did not stay with 
us a minute, but pushed us all into a boat on the 
tide, cut the rope, and was back with the dancers. 
My father had learned just enough of a boat to 
keep her straight in the tide-way, and I had to 
lie down over the babies, to keep their white 
clothes from notice. We went so fast that I was 
quite scared, having never been afloat before, so 
there must have been a strong ebb under us. 
And the boat, which was white, must have been 
a very light one, for she heeled with every mo- 
tion. At last we came to a great broad water, 
which perhaps was the river’s mouth, with the 
sea beyond it. My father got frightened, pei haps ; 
and I know that I had been frightened long ago. 
By a turn of the eddy, we scrambled ashore, and 
carried the boy-baby with us ; but the boat broke 
away with a lurch as we jumped, for we had not 
the sense to bring out the rope. In half a min- 
ute she was otf to sea, and the girl-baby lay fast 
asleep in her stem. And now, after such a long 
voyage in the dark, we were scared so that we 
both ran for our lives, and were safe before day- 
break at Nympton. 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


163 


“My father, before we got home, stripped off 
the little boy’s clothes, and buried them in a 
black moor-hole full of slime, with a great white 
stone in the midst of it. And the child himself 
was turned over naked to herd with the other 
children (for none of our women looked after 
them), and nobody knew or cared to know who 
he was, or whence he came, except my poor fa- 
ther and our master — and I myself, many years 
afterwards. But now I know well, and I can 
not have quiet to die without telling somebody. 
The boy-baby I was compelled to steal was Sir 
Philip Bampfylde’s grandson, and the baby-girl 
his granddaughter. I never heard what became 
of her. She must have been drowned, or starved, 
most likely. But as for the boy, he kept up his 
life ; and the man who took us most in hand, of 
the name of ‘Father David,’ gave the names to 
all of us, and the little one ‘ Harry Savage,’ now 
seiwing on board of the Vanguard. I know 
nothing of the buried images found by Father 
David. My father had nothing to do with that. 
It may have been another of Chouane’s plans. 
I know no more of any thing. There, let me 
die, I have told all I know. I can write my 
nickname. I never had any other — Jack Wild- 
man.'^ 

At the end of this followed the proper things, 
and the forms the law is made of, with first of 
all the sign-manual of our noble Captain Foley, 
who must have been an Irishman, to lead us into 
the battle of the Nile, while in the commission of 
the peace. And after him Captain Bluett signed, 
and two or three warrant-officers gifted with a 
writing elbow ; and then a pair of bare-bone 
crosses, meaning cannibals Dick and Joe, who 
could not speak, and much less write, in the 
depth of their emotions. 

" O 

CHAPTER LXII. 

A RASH YOUNG CAPTAIN. 

Now if I had been sewn up well in a ham- 
mock, and cast overboard (as the surgeon ad- 
vised), who, I should like to know, would have 
been left capable of going to the bottom of these 
strange proceedings? Hezekiah was alive, of 
course, and prepared to swear to any thing, espe- 
cially after a round-shot must have killed him, 
but for his greasiness. And clever enough, no 
doubt, he was, and suspicious, and busy-minded, 
and expecting to have all Wales under his thumb, 
because he was somewhere about on the skirts 
of the great battle I led them into. But grant- 
ing him skill, and that narrow knowledge of the 
world which I call “ cunning granting him also 
a restless desire to get to the bottom of every 
thing, and a sniffing sense like a tumspit-dog’s, 
of the shank-end bone he is roasting — none the 
more for all that could we grant him the down- 
right power, now loudly called for, to put two 
and two together. 

Happily for all parties, poor Hezekiah was not 
required to make any further fool of himself. 
The stump of my arm Avas in a fine condition 
when ordered home with the prizes ; and as soon 
as I felt the old Bay of Biscay, over I knocked 
the doctor. He fitted me with a hook, after this, 
in consistence v»ith an old fisherman ; and now 
I have such a whole boxful of tools to screw on, 


that they beat any hand I ever had in the world 
— if my neighbors would only not borrow them. 

Tush — I am railing at myself again ! Always 
running down, and holding up myself to ridicule, 
out of pure contrariety, just because every one 
else overvalues me. There are better men in the 
world than myself , there are wiser ; there are 
braver ; — I will not be argued down about it — 
there are some (I am sure) as honest, in their 
way ; and a few almost as truthful. However, I 
never yet did come across any other man half so 
modest. This I am forced to allude to now, in 
departure from my usual practice, because this 
quality and nothing else had prevented me from 
dwelling upon, and far more from following up, 
some shrewd thoughts which had occurred to me, 
loosely, I own, and in a random manner — still 
they had occurred to me once or twice, and had 
been dismissed. Why so ? Simply because I 
trusted other men’s judgment, and public impres- 
sion, instead of my own superior instinct, and 
knowledge of weather and tide-ways. 

How bitterly it repented me now of this ill- 
founded diffidence, when, as we lay in the Chops 
of the Channel about the end of October, with a 
nasty head-wind baffling us. Captain Rodney 
Bluett came on board of us from the Leader! 
He asked if the doctor could report the master as 
strong enough to support an inteiwiew ; where- 
upon our worthy bone-joiner laughed, and show- 
ed him in to me, where I sat at the latter end of 
a fine aitch-bone of beef. And then Captain 
Rodney produced his papers, and told me the 
whole of his story. I was deeply moved by Jack 
Wildman’s death, though edified much by the 
manner of it, and some of his last observations. 
For a naked heathen to turn so soon into a trow- 
sered Christian, and still more a good fore-topman, 
was an evidence of unusual grace, even under 
such doctrine as mine was. Captain Bluett spoke 
much of this, although his religious convictions 
were not by any means so intense as mine, while 
my sinews were under treatment ; but even with 
only one arm and a quarter, I seemed to be bet- 
ter fitted to handle events than this young cap- 
tain was. His ability was of no common order, 
as he had proved by running his frigate under 
the very chains of the thundering big Frenchman, 
so that they could not be down on him. And 
yet he could not see half the bearings of Jack 
Wildman’s evidence. We had a long talk, with 
some hot rum-and-water, for the evenings already 
were chilly ; and my natural candor carried me 
almost into too much of it. And the Honorable 
Rodney gazed with a flush of color at me, when 
I gave him my opinions, like a raking broadside. 

“You may be right,” he said ; “you were al- 
ways so wonderful at a long shot, Llewellyn. 
But really it does seem impossible.” 

“Captain,” I answered; “how many things 
seem so, yet come to pass continually!” 

‘ ‘ I can not gainsay you, Llewellyn, after all 
my experience of the world. I would give my 
life to find it true. But how are we to estab- 
lish it?” 

“Leave me alone for that. Captain Bluett; 
if it can be done it shall be done. The idea is 
entirely my own, remember. It had never oc- 
curred to you, had it ?” 

“Certainly not,” he replied, with his usual 
downright honesty ; “ my reason for coming to 
you with that poor fellow’s dying testimony was 


i 


164 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


chiefly to cheer you up with the proofs of our old 
captain’s innocence, and to show you the turn of 
luck for young Harry, who has long been so 
shamefully treated. And now I have another 
thing to tell you about him — that is if you have 
not heard it.” 

“No, I have heard nothing at all. I did not 
even know what had become of him, until you 
read Jack’s confession. With Nelson, on board 
the Vanguard r 

“That was my doing,” said the Honorable 
Rodney : “I recommended him to volunteer, and 
he was accepted immediately, with the character 
I gave him. But it is his own doing, and proud 
I am of it, that he is now junior lieutenant of 
Admiral Lord Nelson’s own ship, the Vanguard. 
Just before Nelson received his wound, and while 
powder v/as being handed up, there came a shell 
hissing among them, and hung with a sputtering 
fuse in the coil of a cable, and the men fell down 
to escape it. But young Harry, with wonderful 
quickness, leaped (as he did, to save me in San 
Domingo), and sent the fuse over the side with 
a dash. Then Nelson came up, for the firing 
was hot, and of course he must be in the thick 
of it, and he saw in a moment what Harry had 
done, and he took down his name for promotion, 
being just what himself would have loved to do. 
It will have to be confirmed, of course ; but of 
that there can be no question, after all that we 
have done, and when it turns out who he is.” 

“I am heartily glad of it, captain,” I cried; 
“ the boy was worthy of any rank. Worth goes 
a little way, birth a long way. But all these 
things have to be lawfully proven.” 

“Oh, you old village -lawyer; as we used to 
call you at Old Newton. And you deserved it, 
you rogue, you did. You may have lost your 
left hand ; but your right has not lost its cun- 
ning.” He spoke in the purest play and jest; 
and \rith mutual esteem we parted. Only I stip- 
ulated for a good talk with him about our meas- 
ures when I should have determined them, or, 
at the latest, on reaching port. 

The boldest counsel is often the best, and nat- 
urally recommends itself to a man of warlike 
character. My first opinion, especially during 
the indignant period, was that nothing could be 
wiser, or more spirited, or more striking, than to 
march straight up to Parson Chowne and con- 
front him with all this evidence, taken down by 
a magistrate, and dare him to deny it ; and then 
hale him off' to prison, and (if the law permitted) 
hang him. That this was too good for him, ev- 
ery one who has read my words must acknowl- 
edge; the best thing, moreover, that could be- 
fall him ; for his body was good, though his soul 
was bad ; and he might have some hopes to re- 
deem the latter at the expense of the former. 
And if he had not, through life, looked forward 
to hanging as his latter end and salvation, it is 
quite impossible to account for the license he al- 
lowed himself. 

However, on second thoughts I perceived that 
the really weighty concern before us, and what 
we Avere bound to think first of, Avas to restore 
such a fine old fiimily to its health and happiness. 
To reinstate, before he died, that noble and most 
kind-hearted man, full of religious feeling also, 
and of confidence that the Lord, having made a 
good man, Avould look after him — Avhich is the 
very spirit of King David, Avhen his self-respect 


' returns — in a Avord, to replace in the world’s es- 
teem, and (what matters far more) in true fam- 
ily loA-e, that fine and pure old gentleman, the 
much-troubled Sir Philip Bampfylde — this, I 
say, Avas the very first duty of a felloAV nursed by 
a general and a baronet through the small-pox ; 
Avhile it Avas also a feat Avell worthy of the master 
of a line-of-battle ship Avhich Avas not last in the 
battle of the Nile. And scarcely second even to 
this was the duty and joy of restoring to their 
proper rank in life tAvo horribly injured and in- 
nocent creatures, one of whom AA'as our own Bar- 
die. Therefore, upon the Avhole, it seemed best 
to go to Avork very Avarily. 

So it came to pass that I followed my usual 
practice of Avholly forgetting myself ; and, receiv- 
ing from the Honorable Rodney Bluett that most 
important document, I sewed it up in the Avater- 
ed-silk bag with my caul and other muniments, 
and set out for Narnton Court, Avhere I found 
both Polly, and the cook, and the other com- 
forts. But nothing A\-ould do for our captain, 
Rodney — all young men are so inconsiderate — 
except to be off at racing speed for Candleston 
Court, and his SAA-eetheart Delusby, and the ex- 
cellent colonel’s old port-Avine. And as he was 
so brisk, I Avill take him first, with your good 
leave, if eA-er Avords of mine can keep up Avith 
him. But of course you AA-ill understand that I 
tell Avhat came to my knoAvledge aftei'Avards. 

With all the speed of men and horses, young 
Rodney Bluett made off for home, and Avhen he 
got there his luck Avas such as to find Delushy 
in the house. It happened to be her visiting- 
time, according to the old arrangement, and this 
crafty sailor found it out from the fine old Avoman 
at the lodge. So AA-hat did he do but discharge 
his carriage, and leave all his kit Avith her, and 
go on, Avith the spright foot of a mariner, to the 
ancient house AAdiich he knew so Avell. Then this 
tall and bold young captain entered by the but- 
ler’s door, the trick of Avhicli AA-as Avell known to 
him, and in a room out of the lobby he stood, 
Avithout his OAvn mother knoAving it. It Avas the 
fall of autumnal night, Avhen eA-ery thing is so rich 
and mellow, Avhen the Avaning daylight ebbs, like 
a great spring-tide exhausted, into the quicken- 
ing floAv of starlight. And the plates Avere being 
cleared aAvay after a snug dinner-party. 

The good colonel sat at the head of his table, 
after the ladies’ AvithdraAval, AA'ith that modest and 
graceful kindliness Avhich is the sure mark of true 
blood. Around him Avere a feAV choice old friends, 
such as only good men have ; friends, Avho Avould 
scout the evidence of their OAvn eyes against him. 
According to our fine old fashion, these Avere 
drinking healths all round, not Avith undue love 
of rare port so much as Avith truth and sincerity. 

Rodney made a sign to Grumpy (avIio had been 
shaking him by both hands, until the tears pre- 
vented him) just to please to keep all quiet 
touching his arriA^al ; and to let him have a slice 
pr tAvo of the haunch of venison put to grill, if 
there Avas any left of it, and give it him all on a 
plate : together Avith a tAvelve-pound loaf of farm- 
house bread, such as is not to be had outside of 
Great Britain. This Avas done in about five min- 
utes (for eA^en Mrs. Cook respected Grumpy) ; 
and being served up, Avith a quart of ale, in 
Grumpy’s OAvn head pri^iicy, it had such a good 
effect that the captaiffwas ready to face any 
body. 


1 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


165 


Old Grumpy was a most crafty old fellow — 
which was one reason why I liked him, as a con- 
trast to my frankness — and he managed it all, 
and kept such a look-out, that no one suspected 
him of any more than an honored old chum in 
his stronghold. Captain Bluett also knew ex- 
actly what his bearings were, and from a loftier 
point of view than would ever occur to Grumpy. 
A man who had earned a 50-gun ship right un- 
der the lower port-holes of a 120-gun enemy, and 
without any orders to that effect, and only from 
want of some easier business, he (I think) may 
be trusted to get on in almost any thing. 

This was the very thing — I do believe — oc- 
curring to the mind of somebody sitting, as near- 
ly as might be now, upon a very beautiful sofa. 
The loveliest work that you can imagine lay be- 
tween her fingers ; and she was doing her very 
best to cany it on consistently. But on her lap 
lay a London paper, full of the highest authority ; 
and there any young eyes might discover a reg- 
ular pitpat of tears. 

“My dear, my dear,” said Lady Bluett, being 
not so very much better herself, although im- 
proved by spectacles ; “it is a dreadful, dreadful 
thing to think of those poor Frenchmen killed, 
so many at a time, and all in their sins. I do 
hope they had time to think, ever so little, of 
their latter end. It makes me feel quite ill to 
think of such a dreadful carnage, and to know 
that my own son was foremost in it. Do you 
think, my dear, that your delicate throat would 
be any worse in the morning if you were to read 
it once more to me? The people in the papers 
are so clever ; and there was something I did not 
quite catch about poor Rodney’s recklessness. 
How like his dear father, to be sure ! I see him 
in every word of it.” 

“Auntie, the first time I read it was best. 
The second and third time, I cried worse and 
worse ; and the fourth time, you know what you 
said of me. And I know that I deserved it, 
auntie, for having such foolish weak eyes like 
that. You know what I told you about Captain 
Rodney, and begged you to let me come here no 
more. And you know what you said — that it 
was a child’s fancy ; and if it were not, it should 
take its course. The colonel was wiser. Oh, 
auntie, auntie! why don’t you always hearken 
him ?” 

‘ ‘ For a very good reason, my dear child — he 
always proves wrong in the end; and I don’t. 
I have the very highest and purest respect for 
my dear brother’s judgment. Every one knows 
what his mind is, and eveiy one values his judg- 
ment. And no stranger, of course, can enter 
into him, his views, and his largeness and intel- 
lect, as I do, when I agree with him. There, 
3 ’ou have made me quite warm, my dear ; I am 
so compelled to vindicate him.” 

“ I am so sorry — I did not mean — you know 
w’hat I am, auntie.” 

“My dear, I know what you are, and there- 
fore it is that I love you so. Now go and wash 
3 'our pretty eyes, and read that again to me and 
to the colonel. Many mothers would be proud, 
perhaps. I feel no pride whatever, because my 
son could not help doing it.” 

There was something else this excellent lady’s 
son could not help doing. He caught the beau- 
tiful maid of Sker in her pure white dress in a 
nook of the passage, and with tears of pride for 


him rolling from her dark gray eyes, and he could 
not help — but all lovers, I trow, know how much 
to expect of him. 

“Thank you, Rodney,” Delushy cried; “to 
a certain extent, I am grateful. But, if you 
please, no more of it. And you need not sup- 
pose that I was crying about, about — about any 
thing. ” 

“ Of course not, you darling. How long have 
I lived, not to know that girls cry about noth- 
ing ? nine times out of ten, at least. Pearly 
tears, now prove your substance.” 

“Rodney, will you let me alone? I am not 
a French decker of 500 guns, for you to do just 
what 3 ’ou like with. And I don’t believe any 
one knows you are here. Yes, yes, yes ! Ever 
so many darlings, if you like — and ‘with my 
whole heart I do love you,’ as darling Moxy says. 
But one thing, this moment, I insist upon — no, 
not in your ear, nor yet through your hair, you 
conceited curly creature ; but at the distance of 
a yard I pronounce that you shall come to your 
mother.” 

“ Oh, what a shame !” And with that unfilial 
view of the subject, he rendered himself, after all 
those mortal perils, into the arms of his mother. 
With her usual quickness Delushy fied, but came 
back to the drawing-room very sedately, and with 
a rose-colored change of dress, in about half an 
hour afterwards. 

“ How do 3 'ou do, Gaptain Rodney Bluett?” 

“Madam, I hope that I see j’ou well.” 

Lady Bluett was amazed at the coolness of 
them, and in her heart disappointed; although 
she was trying to argue it down, and to say to 
herself, “How wise of. them!” She knew how 
the colonel loved this young maid, yet never could 
bear to think of his nephew taking to wife a mere 
waif of the sea. The lady had faith in herself 
that she might in the end overcome this preju- 
dice. But of course if the young ones had ceased 
to care for it, she could only say that young peo- 
ple were not of the stuff that young people used 
to be. 

While she revolved these things in her tender, 
warm, and motherly' bosom, the gentlemen came 
from the dining-room, to pay their compliments 
to the ladies, and to have their tea and all that, 
according to the recent style of it. They bowed 
very decently, as they came in, not being topers 
by any means ; and the lady of the house ai'ose 
and courtesied to them most gracefully. Then 
Rodney, who had found occasion ere this to salute 
Golonel Lougher and his visitors, led forward the 
maid, and presented her to them, with a very ex- 
cellent naval bow. 

“My dear uncle, and friends of the family,” 
he began, while she trembled a little, and looked 
at him with astonishment, “allow me the fa- 
vor of presenting to j'ou a lady who will do me 
the honor of becoming my wife very shortly, I 
hope.” 

The colonel drew back with a frown on his 
face. Lady Bluett, on the other hand, ran up. 

“What is the meaning of this?” she cried. 
“And not a word of it to your own mother! 
Oh, Andalusia, how shocking of you!” 

“ I think, sir,” said the colonel, looking straight 
at the youth, “that you might have chosen a bet- 
ter moment to defy your uncle than in the pres- 
ence of his oldest friends. It is not like a gen- 
tleman, sir. It cuts me to the heart to say such 


1G6 


THE MAID OF SliER. 


a thing to the son of my own sister. But, sir, 
it is not like a gentleman.” 

The old friends nodded to one another in ap- 
proval of this sentiment, and turned to with- 
draw from a family scene. 

“Wait, if you please,” cried Rodney Bluett. 
“Colonel Rougher, I should deserve your re- 
proach if I had done any thing of the kind. My 
intention is not to defy you, sir ; but to please 
you and gratify you, my dear uncle, as your life- 
long kindness to me and to this young lady de- 
serves. And I have chosen to do it before old 
friends, that your pleasure may be increased by 
their congratulations. Instead of being ashamed, 
sir, of the origin of your future niece — or you, my 
dear mother, of your daughter, you may well be 
proud of it. She belongs to one of the oldest 
families in the west of England. She is the 
grandchild of Sir Philip Bampfylde, of Narnton 
Court, near Barnstaple. And I think I have 
heard my mother speak of him as an old friend 
of my father.” 

“To be sure, to be sure!” exclaimed Lady 
Bluett, ere the colonel could recover himself: 
“the Bluetts are an old west-country family; 
but the Bampfyldes even older. Come to me, 
my pretty darling. There, don’t cry so; or if 
you must, come in here, and I wdll help you. 
Rodney, my dear, you have delighted us, and you 
have done it most cleverly. But excuse my say- 
ing that an officer in the army would have known 
a little better what ladies are than to have thrown 
them into this excitement, even in the presence 
of valued friends. Come here, my precious. The 
gentlemen will excuse us for a little while.” 

“ Let me kiss Colonel Rougher first,” whisper- 
ed Delushy; all frightened, crying, and quiver- 
ing as she was, she could not forget her grati- 
tude. So she bowed her white forehead, and 
drooped her dark lashes under the old man’s be- 
nevolent gaze. 

“Sit down, my dear friends,” said Colonel 
Rougher, as soon as the ladies had left the room. 
“My good nephew’s tactics have been rather 
blunt, and of the Aboukir order. However, he 
may be quite right if this matter requires at once 
to be spread abroad. At any rate, my dear boy, 
I owe you an apology. Rodney, I beg your par- 
don for the very harsh words I used to you.” 

With these words he stood up, and bowed to 
his nephew ; who did the same to him in silence, 
and then they shook hands warmly. After which 
the young captain told his story, to which they 
all listened in silence — five being justices of the 
shire, and one the lord lieutenant — all accus- 
tomed to examine evidence. 

“It seems very likely,” said Colonel Rougher, 
as they waited for his opinion, “that David 
Llewellyn is a most shrewd fellow. But he 
ought to have said more about the boat. There 
is one thing, however, to be done at once — to 
collect confirmative evidence.” 

“There is another thing to be done at once,” 
cried Rodney Bluett, warmly — “ to pull Chowne’s 
nose. And, despite his cloth, I will do it round- 
ly.” 

“My young friend,” said the lord lieutenant; 
“prove it first. And then, I think, there are 
some people who would pardon you.” 


CHAPTER RXIII. 

POLLY AT HOME. 

Rest any one should be surprised that Sir 
Philip Bampfylde could have paid two visits to 
this delightful neighborhood without calling on 
our leading gentleman, and his own fellow-offi- 
cer, Colonel Rougher — in which case the ques- 
tions concerning Delushy would have been sifted 
long ago — I had better say at once wffiat it was 
that stopped him. When the general thought it 
just worth while, though his hopes were faint 
about it, to inquire into the twisted story of the 
wreck on our coast, as given by the celebrated 
Felix Farley, the first authority he applied to 
was Coroner Bowles, who had held the inquest. 
Coroner Bowles told him all he knew (half of 
which was wrong, of course, by means of Heze- 
kiah), and gave him a letter to Anthony Stew, as 
the most active and penetrating magistrate of the 
neighborhood. Nothing could have been more 
unlucky. Not only did Stew baffle my desire to 
be more candid than the day itself, by his official 
browbeating, and the antipathy between us — not 
only did Stew, like an over-sharp fellow, trust 
one of the biggest rogues unhung — ^in his unre- 
generate dissenting days, and before we gave 
him six dozen, which certainly proved his salva- 
tion — (I am sorry to say such things of my pres- 
ent good neighbor ’Kiah ; but here he is now, 
and subscribes to it) — Hezekiah Perkins, whose 
view of the shipwreck, and learned disquisition 
on sand, misled the poor coroner and all of the 
jury, except myself, so blindly, that we drowned 
the five young men, and smothei'ed the baby — 
not only did Stew, I say, get thus far in bewilder- 
ment of the subject, but he utterly ruined all 
chance of clearing it, by keeping Sir Philip from 
Candleston Court! 

If you ask me how, I can only say, in common 
firirness to Anthony Stew (who is lately gone, 
poor fellow, to be cross-examined by somebody 
shai-per even than himself — one to whom I would 
never afford material for unpleasant questions, by 
speaking amiss of a man in his power — especially 
when so needless), in a word, to treat Stew as I 
hope myself to be treated by survivors, I admit 
that he may not have wished to keep Sir Philip 
away from the colonel. But the former having 
once accepted Stew’s keen hospitality, and tried 
to eat fish (which I might have bettered, had I 
known of his being there), felt, with his usual del- 
icacy, that he ought not to visit a man at feud 
with the host whose salt — and very little else — he 
was then enjoying. For Mrs. Stew was more 
bitter, of course, than even her husband against 
Colonel Rougher, and roundly abused him the 
very first evening of Sir Philip’s stay with them. 
So that the worthy general passed the gates of 
the excellent colonel half a dozen times, perhaps, 
without once passing through them. 

Enough about that ; and I need only say, be- 
fore retuniing to my own Important and perhaps 
sagacious inquiries in Devonshire, that the news, 
so hastily blurted out by Captain Rodney Bluett, 
caused many glad hearts in our parish and neigh- 
borhood; but nevertheless two sad ones. Of 
these one belonged to Roger Berkrolles, and the 
other to Moxy Thomas. The child had so won 
upon both these, not only by her misfortunes and 
the way in which she bore them, but by her lov- 
ing disposition, bright manner, and docility, that 


167 


THE MAID 

it seemed veiy hard to lose her so, even though it 
were for her own good. Upon this latter point 
Master Berkrolles, when I came to see him, held 
an opinion, the folly of which surprised me, from 
a man of such reading and histoiy. In real 
earnest he laid down that it might be a very bad 
thing for the maid, and make against her happi- 
ness, to come of a sudden into high position, im- 
portance, and even money. Such sentiments are 
to be found, I believe, in the weaker parts of the 
Bible, such as are called the New Testament, 
which nobody can compare to the works of my 
ancestor. King David ; and which, if you put 
aside Saint Paul and Saint Peter (who cut the 
man’s ear off, and rejected quite rightly the ta- 
ble-cloth), exhibit to my mind nobody of a patri- 
otic spirit. 

As for Moxy, she would not have been a wom- 
an if she had doubted about the value of high 
position, coin of the realm, and rich raiment. 
Nevertheless, she cried bitterly that this child, as 
good as her own to her, and given her to make 
up for them, and now so clever to see to things, 
and to light the fire, and show her the way Lady 
Bluett put her dress on, should be taken away in 
a heap, as it were, just as if the great folk had 
minded her. She blamed our poor Bunny for 
stealing the heart of young Watkin, who might 
have had the maid (according to his mother’s 
fancy) with money enough to re-stock the farm, 
now things had proved so handsome. As if ev- 
ery body did not know that Bardie would never 
think twice of Watkin ; while his mother, hear- 
ing of the ships I had taken (as all over the par- 
ish reported), had put poor Watkin on bread and 
water, until he fell in love with Bunny ! How- 
ever, now she cried very severely, and in a great 
measure she meant it. 

Leaving all Newton, and Nottage, and Sker, 
and even Bridgend, to consider these matters, 
with a pleasing divergence of facts and conclu- 
sions, I find it my duty, however rej)ugnant, to 
speak once more of my humble self. In adversi- 
ty my native dignity and the true grandeur of 
Cambria have always united, against my own 
feelings, to make me almost self-confident, or at 
any rate able to maintain my position, and knock 
under to nobody. But in prosperity all this 
drops ; extreme affability, and my native longing 
to give pleasure, mark my deportment towards all 
the world; and I almost never commit an as- 
sault. 

In this fine and desirable frame of mind I ar- 
rived at Narnton Court once more, sooner per- 
haps than Captain Bluett, having so much farther 
to go, burst in on his friends at Candleston ; al- 
though I have given his story precedence, not 
only on account of his higher rank, but because 
of the hurry he was in. On the other hand, my 
part seemed to be of a nice and delicate charac- 
ter — to find out all that I could without making 
any noise in the neighborhood, to risk no chance, 
if it might be helped, of exciting Sir Philip Bamp- 
fylde, and, above all things, no possibility of arous- 
ing Chowne till the proper time. For his craft 
was so great that he might destroy every link of 
evidence, if he once knew that we were in chase 
of him ; even as he could outfox a fox. 

When things of importance take their hinge, a 
good deal, upon feminine evidence, the first thing 
a wise man always does is to seek female instinct, 
if he sees his way to guide it. And to have the 


OF SKER. 

helm of a woman, nothing is so certain as a sort 
of a promise of marriage. A man need not go, 
too, veiy far, and must be awake about pen and 
ink, and witnesses, and so on ; but if he knows 
how to do it, and has lost an arm in battle, but 
preserved an unusually fine white beard, and has 
had another wife before, who was known to make 
too little of him, the fault is his own if he can not 
manage half a dozen spinsters. 

My reputation had outrun me — as it used to 
do, sometimes too often — for in the dispatches 
my name came after scarcely more than fifty, 
though it should have been one of the foremost 
five ; however, my wound was handsomely chron- 
icled, and with a touch of my own description, 
such as is really heartfelt. Of course it was not 
quite cured yet, and I felt very shy about it ; and 
the very last thing I desired was for the women 
to come bothering. Tush ! I have no patience 
with them ; they make such a fuss of a trifle. 

But being bound upon such an errand, and 
anxious to conciliate them so far as self-respect 
allowed, and knowing that if I denied myself to 
them, the movement would be much greater, I 
let them have peeps, and perceive at the same 
time that I really did w'ant a new set of shirts. 
Half a dozen of damsels began at once to take 
my measure: and the result will last my life- 
time. 

But, amidst all this glorification, whenever I 
thought of settling, there was one pretty face that 
I longed to see, and to my mind it beat the whole 
of them. What was become of my pretty Polly, 
the lover of my truthful tales, and did she still re- 
member a brave, though not young, officer in the 
navy, who had saved her from the jaws of death, 
by catching smallpox from her? These ques- 
tions were answered just in time, and in the right 
manner also, by the appearance of Polly herself, 
outblushing the rose at sight of me, and without 
a spot on her face, except from the very smart 
veil she was wearing. For she was no longer a 
servant now, but free and independent, and there- 
fore entitled to take the veil, and she showed her 
high spirit by doing this, to the deep indignation 
of all our maid-servants. And still more indig- 
nant were these young women, when Polly de- 
meaned herself, as they declared, with a perfectly 
shameless and brazen-faced manner of carrying 
on towards the noble old tar. They did not al- 
low for the poor thing’s gratitude to the only one 
who came nigh her in her despairing hour and 
saved her life thereby, nor yet for her sorrow and 
tender feeling at the dire consequence to him ; 
and it was not in their power, perhaps, to sym- 
pathize with the shock she felt at my maimed 
and war-beaten appearance. However, I car- 
ried the whole of it off in a bantering manner, as 
usual. 

Still there was one resolution I came to, after 
long puzzling in what way to cope with the al- 
most fatal difficulty of having to trust a woman. 
So I said to myself, that if this must be done, I 
might make it serve two purposes — first for dis- 
covery of what I sought, and then for a test of 
the value of a female, about whom I had serious 
feelings. These were in no way affected by some 
news I picked up from Nanette, or, as she now 
called herself, “The widow Heaviside.” Not 
that my old friend had left this world, but that 
he gave a wide berth to the part containing his 
beloved partner. She, with a Frenchwoman’s 


168 


THE MAID OE SKER. 


wit and sagacity, saw the advantage of remaining 
in the neighborhood of her wrongs ; and here, 
with the pity now felt for her, and the help she 
received from Sir Philip himself, and her own 
skill in getting up woman’s fal-lals, she main- 
tained her seven children cleverly. After shed- 
ding some natural tears for the admired but fugi- 
tive Heaviside, she came round, of course, to her 
neighbors’ affairs ; and though she had not been 
at Narnton Court at the time when the children 
were stolen, she helped me no little by telling me 
w'here to find one who knew all that was known 
of it. This was a farmer’s wife now at Bumng- 
ton (as I found out afterwards), a village some 
few leagues up the Tawe, and her name was Mrs. 
Shapland. 

‘ ‘ From her my friend the captain shall decouv- 
er the every thing of this horrible affair,” said 
Nanette, who now spoke fine English. “She 
was the — what you call — the bonne, the guard 
of the leetle infants. I know not where she 
leeves, some barbarous name. I do forget — but 
she have one cousin, a jolly girl, of the leetle 
name — ^pray how can you make such thing of 
‘Mary?’ ” 

“What, do you mean Polly ?” I asked : “ that 
is what we make of Mary. And what Polly is 
it then, madame ?” 

“Yes, Paullee, the Paullee which have that 
horrible pest that makes holes in the faces. 
‘Verole’ we call it. The Paullee that was in 
the great mansion, until she have the money left, 
the niece of the proud woman of manage. You 
shall with great facility find that Paullee.” Of 
course I could, for she had told me where I might 
call upon her, which I did that very same after- 
noon. 

And a pretty and very snug cottage it w’as, 
just a furlong or so above the fine old village 
of Braunton, with four or five beautiful meadows 
around it, and a bright pebbly brook at the tuim 
of the lane. The cottage itself, even now in No- 
vember, was hung all over with China roses, and 
honeysuckle in its second bloom, which it often 
shows ill Devonshire. And up at the window, 
that shook off the thatch, and looked wide-awake 
as a dog’s house, a face, more bright than the 
roses, came and went away, and came again, to 
put a good face upon being caught. 

Hereupon I dismissed the boys, who, with sev- 
eral rounds of cheers, had escorted me through 
Braunton ; and with genuine thankfulness I 
gazed at the quiet and pleasing prospect. So 
charming now in the fall of the leaf, what would 
it be in the spring-time, with the meadows all 
breaking anew into green, and the trees all ready 
for their leaves again ? Also these bright red 
Devonshire cows, all belonging to Polly, and 
even now streaming milkily — a firkin apiece was 
the least to expect of them, in the merry May 
month. A very deep feeling of real peace, and 
the pleasure of small things fell on me ; for a 
man of so many years, and one arm, might al- 
most plead to himself some right to shed his ex- 
perience over the earth, when his blood had been 
curdling on so many seas. 

The very same thought was in Polly’s eyes 
when she ran down and opened the door for me. 
The whole of this property was her owm ; or would 
be, at least, when her old grandmother would al- 
low herself to be buried. That old w'oman now 
was ninety-five, if the parsons had minded the 


register; and a woman more fully resolved to 
live on I never had the luck to meet with. And 
the worst of it was, that her consent to Polly’s 
marriage was needful, under the ancient cow- 
keeper’s will, w’ith all of the meadow's so de- 
scribed that nobody could get out of them. 
Hereupon, somehow, I managed to see that a 
very bold stroke was needed. And I took it, 
and won tire old lady over, by downright defi- 
ance. I told her that she Avas a great deal too 
young to have any right to an opinion ; and when 
she should come to my time of life, she would 
find me ready to hearken her. She said that no 
doubt it was bred from the wars for sailors to 
talk so bravely ; but that I ought to know better 
— with a fie, and a sigh, and a fie again. To 
none of this w'ould I give ear, but began to rebuke 
all the young generations, holding to ridicule 
these vei'y points upon Avhich they - especially 
plume themselves, until this most excellent wom- 
an began to count all her cows on her fingers. 

“ Her can’t liaA^e them. No, her sha’n’t have 
they,” she cried, with a power which proved that 
she saw them dropping into my jaws almost; 
“her han’t a got ’em yet; and w'hy should her 
have ’em ?” 

Into this vei'y fine feeling and sense of posses- 
sion I entered so amiably, that, amidst much 
laughter and many blushes on the part of Polly 
(who pretended to treat the whole thing as a joke), 
the old lady put on her silver goggles, and set 
down her name to a memorandum prepared on 
the spur of the moment by me. Whereupon I 
quite made my mind up to go bravely in for it, 
and recompense Polly for all her faith, and grat- 
itude, and frugality, if she should prove herself 
capable of keeping counsel also. 

To this intent I expressed myself as elegantly 
as could be, having led Polly out to the wooden 
bridge, that nobody else might hear me. For 
that fine old woman became so deaf, all of a sud- 
den, that I had no faith in any more of her or- 
gans, and desired to be at safe distance from her, 
as well as to learn something more of the cows. 
Nor did I miss the chance ; for all of them hav- 
ing been milked by Polly, came up to knoiv what 
I had to say to her, and their smell w'as beauti- 
ful. So I gave them a bit of salt out of my pock- 
et, such as I always carry, and ofiered them some 
tobacco, and they put out their broad lips for the 
one, and snorted and sneezed at the other. Wlien 
these valuable cows Avere gone to have a little 
more grazing, I just made Polly aAvare of the 
chance that appeared to be open before us. In 
short, I laid clearly before her the whole of my 
recent grand discovery, proving distinctly that 
Avith nothing more than a little proper manage- 
ment, I possessed therein at least an equh'alent 
for her snug meadow homestead, and all the 
milch-coAA's and the trout stream. Only she must 
not forget one thing — namely, that the Avhole 
of this A'alueAvould vanish, if a single AA'ord of this 
story were breathed any farther otf than our OAvn 
tAvo selA'es, until the time was ripe for it. Of 
course I had not been quite such a fool as to giA'O 
Nanette the smallest inkling of any motiA^e on my 
part beyond that pure curiosity with Avhich she 
could so Avell sympathize. Also, it had been set- 
tled between Captain Bluett and myself that a 
fortnight Avas to be alloAved me for hunting up 
all the evidence before he should cross the Chan- 
nel, unless I took it on myself to fetch him. 


169 


THE MAID 

Polly opened her blue eyes to such a size at all 
I told her, that I became quite uneasy lest she 
should open her mouth in proportion. For if my 
discoveiy once took wind before its entire com- 
pletion, there would be at least fifty jealous fel- 
lows thrusting their oars into my own rowlocks, 
and robbing me of my own private enterprise. 
Also Miss Polly gave way to a feeling of anger 
and indignation, which certainly might be to some 
extent natural, but was, to say the least of it, in 
a far greater measure indiscreet, and even peril- 
ous. 

“Oh the villain! oh the cruel villain!” she 
exclaimed, in a voice that quite alarmed me, con- 
sidering how near the foot-path was ; “and a min- 
ister of the Gospel too ! Oh the poor little babes, 
one adrift on the sea, and the other among them 
naked savages! What a mercy as they didn’t 
eat him ! . And to blame the whole of it on a nice, 
harmless, kind-spoken, handsome gentleman like 
our captain ! Oh, let me get hold of him !” 

“That, my dear Polly, we never shall do, if 
you raise your voice in this way. Now come 
away from these trees with the ivy, and let v us 
speak very quietly.” 

This dear creature did (as nearly as could be 
expected) what I told her ; so that I really need 
not repent of my noble faith in the female race. 
This encouraged me, from its tendency to abol- 
ish prejudice, and to let the weaker vessels show 
that there is such a thing as a cork to them. 
Men are apt to judge too much by experience on 
this subject ; when they ought to know that ex- 
perience never does apply to women, any more 
than reason does. 

Nevertheless my Polly saw the way in and out 
of a lot of things, which to me were difficult — es- 
pecially as to the manner of handling her cousin, 
Mrs. Shapland, a very good woman in her way, 
but a ticklish one to deal with. And all the 
credit for all the truth we got out of Mrs. Shap- 
land belongs not to me (any more than herself), 
but goes down in a lump to poor Polly. 

To pass this lightly — as now behooves me — just 
let me tell what Susan Shapland said, when I 
worked it out of her. Any man can get the truth 
out of a woman, if he knows the way ; I mean, 
of course, so far as she has been able to receive 
it. To expect more than this is unreasonable; 
and to get that much is wonderful. However, 
Polly and I, between us, did get a good deal 
of it. 

Of course, we did not let this good woman even 
guess what we wanted with her; only we bor- 
rowed a farmer’s cart from Bang, my old boy, 
who was now set up in a farm on his grandmoth- 
er’s ashes; and his horse was not to be found 
fault with, if a man did his duty in lashing him. 
This I was ready to understand, when pointed out 
by Polly ; and he never hoisted his tail but what 
I raked him under his counter. 

So after a long hill, commanding miles and 
miles of the course of the river, we fetched up in 
the court-yard of Farmer Shapland, and found his 
w'ife a brisk, sharp woman, quite ready to tell her 
story. But what she did first, and for us, at this 
moment, was to rouse up the fire with a great 
dry fagot, crackling and sparkling merrily. For 
the mist of November was now beginning to 
crawl up the wavering valley, and the fading 
light from the west struck coldly on the winding 
river. 


OF SKEK. 

In such a case, and after a drive of many miles 
and much scenery, any man loves to see pots and 
pans goaded briskly to bubbling arid sputtering, 
or even to help in the business himself, so far as 
the cook will put up with it. And then, if a fool- 
ish good woman allows him (as pride sometimes 
induces her) to lift up a pot-lid when trembling 
with flavor, or give a shake to the frying-pan in 
the ecstasy of crackling, or even to blow on the 
iron spoon, and then draw in his breath with a 
drop of it — what can he want with any scenery 
out of the window, or outside his waistcoat ? 

Such was my case, I declare to you, in that 
hospitable house with these good people of Bur- 
rington ; nor could we fall to any other business 
until this was done with ; then after dark we drew 
round the fire, with a black-jack of grand old ale, 
and our pipes, to hear Mrs. Shapland’s story. 

' - 

CHAPTER LXIV. 

SUSAN QUITE ACQUITS HERSELF. 

It really does seem as wise a plan as any I am 
acquainted with to let this good woman act accord- 
ing to the constitution of her sex — that is to say, 
to say her say, and never be contradicted. We 
contradicted her once or twice, to reconcile her 
to herself ; but all that came of it was to make 
her contradict perhaps herself, but certainly us, 
ten times as much. She did her best to explain 
her meaning ; and we really ought to enter more 
into their disabilities. Therefore let her tell her 
story, as nearly in her own words, poor thing, as 
my sense of the English language can in any 
style agree with. 

“I was nurse atNamton Court, ever so many 
years ago — when my name was Susan Mogge- 
ridge — Charley, you can not deny it, you know ; 
and all of us must be content to grow old ; it is 
foolish to look at things otherwise. Twelve and 
six, that makes eighteen ; now. Captain Wells, 
you know it do ; and Charley, can you say other- 
wise? Then it must have been eighteen years 
agone when I was took on for under-nurse, be- 
cause the princess was expecting, the same as 
the butler told me. And it came to pass on a 
Sunday night, with two miles away from the 
doctor. Orders had been given ; but they for- 
eigners always do belie them. Too soon always, 
or too late ; and these two little dears was too 
soon, by reason of the wonderful child the eldest 
one was prepared for. A maid she was, and the 
other a boy — two real beauties both of them ; as 
fair as could be, with little clear dots under their 
skin, in corner places, because of their mother the 
princess. But nothing as any one would observe, 
except for a beauty to both of them. The boy 
was the biggest, though the girl came first ; and 
first was her nature in every thing, except, of 
course, in fatness, and by reason of always dan- 
cing. Not six months old was that child before 
she could dance on the kitchen-table, with only 
one hand to hold her up, and a pleasure it was to 
look at her. And laugh with her little funny 
face, and nod her head, she would, as if she saw 
to the bottom of every thing. And when she 
were scarce turned the twelvemonth, she could 
run, like — oh, just like any thing, and roll over 
and over on the grass with her ‘Pomyolianian 
dog,’ as she called him, and there wasn’t a word 


170 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


in the language as ever come amiss to her, 
but for the r’s or the y’s in it. Words such as I 
could lay no tongue to, she would take and pro- 
nounce right off, and then laugh at herself and 
every body. And the way she used to put her 
hands out, laying down the law to all of us — we 
didn’t want a showman in the house so long as 
we had Miss Bertha, or ‘Bardie,’ as she called 
herself, though christened after her mother. Ev- 
ery body, the poor little mite, she expected every 
body to know her name and all about her ; and 
nothing put her in such a passion as to pretend 
not to know who she w’as. ‘I’se Bardie,’ she used 
to cry out, with her little hands spread, and her 
bright eyes flashing ; ‘ I’se Bardie, I tell ’a ; and 
evely body knows it.’ Oh yes, and she never 
could say ‘th’ — but ‘niss’ and ‘nat,’ for this 
and that. And how angry she used to be, to be 
sure, if any body mocked her, as we used to do 
for the fun of it. But even there she was up to 
us, for she began to talk French, for revenge 
upon us, having taken the trick from her mother. 

“Likewise, the boy was a different child alto- 
gether, in many ways. He scarcely could learn 
to speak at all, because he was a very fine child 
indeed, and quiet, and fat, and easy. He would 
lie by for hours on a velvet cushion, and watch his 
little sister having her perpetual round of play. 
Dolls, and horses, and Noah’s arks, and all the 
things that were alive to her, and she talking to 
them whiles the hour — he took no more notice 
than just to stroke them, and say, ‘ Boo, boo!’ 
or ‘Poor, poor!’ which was nearly all that he 
could say. Not that he was to blame, of course, 
nor would any one having sense think of it, 
especially after he took the pink fever, and it 
struck to his head, and they cut his hair off. 
Beautiful curls as was ever seen, and some of 
them in my drawer up stairs now, with the color 
of gold streaking over them. Philip his name 
was, of course, from Sir Philip, and being the 
heir to the title ; but his clever sister she always 
called him ‘little brother,’ as if he was just born 
almost, when he weighed pretty nearly two of 
her. 

“ Sir Philip, the good old gentleman, was 
away in foreign parts, they said, or commanding 
some of the colonies, up to the time when these 
two twins were close upon two years old or so. 
I remember quite well when he came home with 
his luggage marked ‘General Bampfylde;’ and 
we said it was disrespectful of the Government 
to call him so, when his true name was ‘ Sir 
Philip.’ He had never seen his grandchildren 
till now, and what a fuss he made with them ! 
But they had scarcely time to know him before 
they were sadly murdered ; or worse, perhaps, 
for all that any one knows to the contrary. Be- 
cause Sir Philip’s younger son. Captain Drake 
Bampfylde, came from the seas and America just 
at this time. No one expected him, of course, from 
among such distant places; and he had not been 
home for three years at least, and how noble he 
did look, until wo saw how his shirts were cob- 
bled ! And every one all about the place said 
that his little finger was worth the whole of the 
squire’s body. Because the squire, his elder 
brother, and the heir of Sir Philip, was of a na- 
ture, not to say — but I can not make it clear to 
you. No one could say a word against him ; 
only he were not, what you may call it — not as 
we Devonshire people are — not with a smile and 


kind look of the eye, the same as Captain Drake 
was. 

“ This poor Captain Drake — poor or bad, I 
scarce know which to put it, after all I have 
heard of him — any how his mind was set upon a 
little chit of a thing, not more than fifteen at this 
time. Her name was Isabel Carey, and her fa- 
ther had been a nobleman, and when he departed 
this life, he ordered her off to Narnton Court. 
So she did at an early age ; and being so beauti- 
ful, as some thought, she was desperate with the 
captain. They used to go walking all up in the 
woods, or down on the river in a boat, until it 
was too bad of them. The captain, I dare say, 
meant no harm, and perhaps he did none ; but 
still there are sure to be talkative people who 
want to give their opinions. If Charley had 
carried on so with me, whatever should I have 
thought of myself? 

“Well, there was every body saying very fine 
things to every body, gay doings likewise, and 
great feasts, and singing, and dancing, and all the 
rest. And the captain hired a pleasure-boat, by 
name the Wild Duck of Appledore; and I never 
shall forget the day when he took a whole pack 
of us for a sail out Over Barnstajile bar and back. 
I was forced to go, because he needs must take 
the children ; and several, even old people, were 
sick, but no one a quarter so bad as me. And it 
came into my mind in that state, that he was 
longing, as well as welcome, to cast us all into 
the raging sea. However, the Lord preserved us. 
This little ship had one mast, as they call it, and 
he kept her generally in a little bend just above 
the salmon-weir, so as to see the men draw the 
pool, and himself to shoot the wild-fowl, from a 
covered place there is ; and by reason of being so 
long at sea, he could not sleep comfortable at the 
court, but must needs make his bed in this pleas- 
uring-ship, and to it he used to go to and fro in a 
little white boat as belonged to it. 

“All this time the weather was so hot w'e could 
scarcely bear our clothes on, and were ready to 
envy them scandalous savages belonging to the 
famous Parson Chowne, who went about with no 
clothes on. There was one of these known to be 
down on the burrows a-bathing of his wife and 
family, if a decent woman may name them so. 
Well, the whole of these gay goings-on, to cele- 
brate the return of Sir Philip, and of Captain 
Drake, and all that they owed to the Lord for 
his goodness, was to finish up with a great din- 
ner to all the tenants on the property ; and then, 
on the children’s birthday, a feasting of all the 
gentry around ; and a dance with all sorts of out- 
landish dresses and masks on, in the evening. 
For the fashion of this was come down from 
London, and there had been a party of this sort 
over to Lord Bassett’s; and the neighborhood 
was wild with it. And after this every thing was 
to be quiet, because my Lady the Princess Ber- 
tha was again beginning to expect almost. 

“And now. Captain Wells, you would hardly 
believe what a blow there was sent, by the will 
of the Lord, upon all of this riot and revelry. 
There was many of us having pious disposals, as 
well as religious bringings up, whose stomachs 
really was turned by the worldliness as was around 
us. Young ladies of the very best families, in- 
stead of turning their minds to the Lord, turning 
of themselves about, with young men laying hold 
of them, as if there was nothing more to be said 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


171 


than ‘Kiss me quick!’ and, ‘I’ll do it again!’ 
Blit there was a judgment coming. They might 
lay the blame on me, if they like. There is folk 
as knows better. 

“That very night it was so hot, with the sun 
coming up from the river, that even the great 
hall the dance was to be in was only fit to lie 
down in. So that Captain Drake, in his man-of- 
war voice, shouted (and I think I can hear him 
now), ‘ Ladies and gentlemen, I propose that we 
have our dance out on the terrace.’ This w'as 
the open made-up flat between the house and the 
river, and the captain’s offer was caught up at, di- 
rectly the gentlefolk seen the moon. 

“Here they were going on ever so long; and 
the more of twirling round they had, and of mak- 
ing heel and toe, and crossing arms and even 
frontesses, the more they seemed to like it ; also 
the music up and down almost as bad as they 
W’as ; so that what with the harlequin dresses, 
and masquerading, and mummeries, scarcely any 
one could have the head to be sure of any one 
else almost. I could not help looking at them, 
although my place was to heed the children only, 
and keep them out of mischief, and take them 
to bed at the proper time. But Captain Drake 
who was here, there, and elsewhere, making him- 
self agreeable, up he comes to me with a bottle, 
and he* says, ‘ Mary, have some. ’ ‘ My name is 

not Mary, but Susan, sir, and much at your serv- 
ice,’ I answered ; so at that he poured me a great 
glassful, and said that it was Sam — something.* 
I was not so rude as to give him denial, but made 
him a courtesy, and drank it, for it was not so 
strong as my fatlier’s cider; no, nor so good, to 
my liking. And for any to say that it got in my 
head, shows a very spiteful woman. The cap- 
tain went on to the other maids as were looking 
on for the life of them, all being out-of-doors, you 
must mind, and longing to have their turn at it. 
But I held myself above them always, and went 
back to my children. 

“These were in a little bower made up for the 
occasion, wdth boughs of trees, and twisted wood, 
and moss from the forest to lie upon. Master 
Philip was tired and heavy, and working his 
eyes with the backs of his hands, and yawning, 
and falling away almost. But that little Bertha 
was as wide-awake as a lark on her nest in the 
morning. Everywhere she was looking about 
for somebody to encourage her to have ‘more 
play,’ as she always called for; and ‘more play’ 
continually. That child was so full of life, it 
Avas ‘ more play ’ all day long with her ! And 
even now, in the fiery heat and thorough down 
thirst of the weather, nothing was further from 
her mind than to go to bed without a gambol for 
it. She had nothing on but her little shift, or 
under-frock I should call it, made by myself, when 
the hot weather came, from a new jemmyset of 
the princess, and cut out by my lady to fit her, 
for the sake of the coolness. Her grand white 
upper frock, trimmed with lace, had been taken 
off by her papa, I believe, when the visitors would 
have her dance on the table, and make speeches 
to them ; the poor little soul was so quick and so 
hot. 

“Well, I do declare to you. Captain Wells, 
and Charley, Polly likewise, which wall believe 
me, though the men may not, it was not more 
than a minute or so much, perhaps I should say 
not half a minute, as I happened to turn round 


to pass a compliment with a young man as seem- 
ed struck with me the Sunday before in church- 
time ; a sailor he were, and had come with the 
captain, and was his mate of the pleasure-boat. 

A right down handsome young man he was — no 
call for you to be jealous, Charley. Beneatii the 
salt waves he do lie. Well, I turned back my 
head in about five seconds, and both of the babes 
was gone out of my sight! At first I were not , 
frightened much. I took it for one of Miss Ber- 
tha’s tricks, to make off with her little brother. 

So strong she was on her legs, though light, that 
many a time she would lift him up by his middle 
and carry him half round the room, and then 
both of them break out laughing. ‘ I’ll whip you, 
you see if I don’t,’ I cried, as I ran round the 
comer to seek for them; though whip them I 
never did, poor dears, any more than their own 
mother did. I ran all about, for five minutes at 
least, around and among the branches stuck in 
to make the bower, and every moment I made 
up my mind for Miss Bardie to pop out on me. 
But pop out she never did, nor will, until the day 
of judgment. — — * 

“When I began to see something more than 
an innocent baby trick in it, and to think (I dare 
say) of these two babies’ value, with all the land 
they were born to, the first thing I did was to 
call out ‘Jack!’ such being all sailors’ names, of 
course. But Jack was gone out of all hearing; 
and most folk said it was Jack that took them ! 

To the contrary I could swear ; but who would 
listen to me when the lie went out that I was en- 
tirely tipsy ?” 

“Of the rest I can not speak clearly, because 
my heart flew right up into my brain, directly 
moment the people came round shouting at me for 
the children. And of these the very worst was 
Parson Chowne. If it had been his own only 
children — such as he says he is too good to have 
— he scarcely could have been more rampagious, 
not to use worse words of him. The first thing 
that every one ran to, of course, was the para- 
petch and the river, and a great cry was made for 
Captain Drake Bampfylde, from his knowledge 
of the water-ways. But, though all the evening 
foremost in conducting every thing, now there 
Avas no sign to be had of him, or of who had seen 
him last. And it must have been an hour ere 
ever he come, and then of course it Avas too late. 

“I Avas so beside myself all that night that I 
can not tell hoAV the time Avent by. I remember 
looking over the parapetch at a place Avhere the 
Avater is always deep, and seeing the fishermen 
from the salmon-weir dragging their nets for the 
poor mites of bodies. And my blood seemed to 
curdle inside me almost, CA'ery time they came out 
with a stone or a log. Nothing was found from 
that night to this day, and nothing Avill cA^er be 
found of it. I Avas discharged, and a great many 
others ; not the first time in this Avorld, I believe, 
Avhen the bottom of the Avhole was Avitchcraft. 
Here, Charley, put something hot in my glass ; 
the evenings are getting so dark ; and I never can 
see the moon and the Avater, like that, and the 
trees, Avithout remembering. Now ask me no 
more, if you please, good people.” 

When Mrs. Shapland had finished this tale, 
and AA^as taking some Avell-earned refreshment, 
Polly and I looked at one another, as much as to 
say, “That settles it.” Nor did Ave press her 
Avith any more questions until her mind had re- 


172 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


covered its tone by frying some slices of ham cut 
thin, and half a dozen new-laid eggs for us. 
Then, I approached her with no small praise, 
which she deserv'ed, and appeared (so far as I 
could judge) to desire, perhaps ; and with a little 
skill on my part, she was soon warmed up again, 
having tasted egg-flip, to be sure of it. 

“Yes, Captain Wells, you can see through the 
whole of it. Sailors can understand a river, when 
nobody else knows any thing. The captain came 
forward as soon as he could, and he says, ‘You 
fools, what are you about ? An hour ago the tide 
was running five knots an hour where you be 
dragging! If the poor children fell over, they 
must be down river-bar by this time.’ And off 
he set out on a galloping horse, to scurry the 
sand-hills somehow. And scurry was now the 
whole of it. Sir Philip came forth, and that poor 
Squire Philip; and a thousand pounds was as 
freely talked of as if it was half-pence. And 
every one was to be put in prison ; especially me, 
if you please, as blameless as the unbora babe 
was! And that veiy night the princess were 
taken, and died the next day, upsetting eveiy 
thing ever so much worse than ever. For poor 
Squire Philip fell into a trance, so to say, out of 
sheer vexation. He cried out that the* hand of 
the Lord was upon him, and too heavy for him 
to bear — particular from his own brother. And 
after that not an inch would he budge to make 
inquiry or any thing, but shut himself up in his 
dead wife’s rooms, and there he have moped from 
that day to this, in a living grave, as you may 
call it.” 

In reply to my question what reasons the squire, 
or any one else, might have for charging the captain 
with so vile a deed, this excellent woman set them 
forth pretty much to the following purport : First, 
it was the captain himself who proposed the dan- 
cing on the terrace. Second, it was his own man 
who drew her attention away from the children, 
after a goblet of wine had been administered by 
the master. Third, it was his own boat which 
was missing, and never heard of afterwards. 
Fourth, the captain himself disappeared from the 
party at the very time that the children were 
stolen, and refused to say whither, or why, he 
was gone. That active and shrewd man. Parson 
Chowne, no sooner heard of the loss than he raised 
a cry for the captain all over the terrace, to come 
and command the fishermen ; and though, as a 
friend of the family, Chowne would never express 
an opinion, he could not undo that sad shake of 
the head which he gave when no captain could be ' 
found. Fifth, a man with a captain’s hat was 
seen burying two small bodies that night in the 
depth of Braunton Wilderness ; though nothing 
was heard of it till the next week, through the 
savageness of the witness ; and by that time the 
fierce storm on the Sunday had changed the whole 
face of the burrows, so that to find the spot was 
impossible. Sixth, it was now recalled to mind 
that Drake Bampfylde had killed a poor school- 
fellow in his young days, for which the Lord had 
most righteously sent a shark in pursuit of him. 
It was likely enough that he would go on killing 
children upon occasion. Seventh reason, and 
perhaps worth all the rest — only think what a 
motive he had for it. No one else could gain six- 
pence by it ; Drake Bampfylde would gain every 
tiling — the succession to the title and estates, and 
the immediate right to aspire to the hand of the 


beautiful heiress. Miss Carey, who was known to 
favor him. 

Thus the common people reasoned; but our 
Susan attached no weight to any except the last 
argument. As for one, she knew quite well that 
the young seaman sauntered there quite by chance, 
and quite by chance she spoke to him ; and as for 
wine, she could take a quart of her father’s cider, 
and feel it less than she could describe to any one ; 
and as for a rummer of that stuff she had, it was 
quite below contempt to her. And concerning 
the captain just being away, and declining to say 
where he was, like a gentleman ; none but igno- 
rant folk could pretend not to know what that 
meant. Of course he was gone, between the 
dances, for a little cool walk in the fir-woods, to- 
gether with his Isabel ; and to expose her name 
to the public, with their nasty way of regarding 
things, was utterly out of the question to a real 
British ofiicer ! And to finish it, Mrs. Shapland 
said that she was almost what you might call a 
young woman even now ; at any rate, with ten 
times the sense any of the young ones were up to. 
And ten years of her life she would give, if 
Charley would allow of her, to know what became 
of them two little dears, and to punish the villain 
that wronged them. 

Hereupon my warmth of heart got the better 
of my pindence. !My wise and pure intention 
was to get out of this good woman all I could ; 
but impart to her nothing more than was need- 
ful, just to keep her talking. Experience shows 
us that this need be very little indeed, if any 
thing, in a female dialogue. But now I was 
brought to such a pitch of tenderness by this 
time, with my heart in a rapid pulse of descrip- 
tions, and the egg-flip going round sturdily, also 
Polly looking at me in a most beseeching way, 
that I could not keep my own counsel even, but 
was compelled to increase their comfort by de- 
claring every thing. 


CHAPTER LXV. 

so DOES POOR OLD DAVY. 

Hereupon, you may well suppose that the 
grass must no longer grow under my feet. With 
one man, and positively two women, in this very 
same county, having possession of my secret, 
how long could I hope to work this latter to any 
good purpose ? Luckily, Burlington lay at a very 
' great distance from Nympton on the Moors, and 
with no road from one to the other ; so that if 
Mr. and Mrs. Shapland should fail of keeping 
their promised tightness, at least two Barnstaple 
market-days must pass before Nympton heard 
any thing. And but for this consideration, even 
their style of treatment would not have made me 
so confiding. 

On the following mom, while looking forth at 
pigs and calves, and cocks and ducks, I per- 
ceived that the crash must come speedily, and re- 
solved to be downright smart with it. So, after 
making a brisk little breakfast upon the two 
wings and two legs of a goose, grilled with a 
trifle of stuffing, there was but one question I 
asked before leaving many warm tears behind 
me. 

‘ ‘ Good IMistress Sha])land, would you know 
that jemmyset of the child if you saw it ?” 


THE MAID 

“ Captain Wells, I am not quite a natural. 
My own stitching done with a club-head, all of 
it, and of a three-lined thread as my uncles, and 
nobody else had, to Barnstaple. Likewise the 
mark of the princess done — a mannygram, as they 
call it.” 

The weather was dull, and the time of year as 
stormy as any I know of : nevertheless it was 
quite fine now, and taking upon myself to risk 
five guineas out of my savings, Ilfracombe was 
the place I sought, and found it with some diffi- 
culty. Thus might Barnstaple bar be avoided, 
and all the tumbling of in-shore waters ; and 
thus with no more than a pilot-yawl did I cross 
that dangerous channel, at the most dangerous 
time of the year almost. Nothing less than my 
royal clothes and manifest high rank in the navy 
could have induced this fine old pilot to make 
sail for the opposite coast in the month of No- 
vember, when violent gales are so common with 
us. But I showed him two alternatives, three 
golden guineas on the one hand, impressment on 
the other ; for a press-gang was in the neighbor- 
hood now, and I told him that I was its captain, 
and that we laughed at all certificates. And not 
being sure that this man and his son might not 
combine to throw me overboard, steal my money, 
and run back to port, I took care to let them 
perceive my entiy of their names, and my owm as 
well, in the register of the coast-guard. Ilowever, 
they proved very honest fellows, and we anchor- 
ed under Porthcawl Point soon after dark that 
evening. 

Having proved to the pilot that he was quite 
safe here, unless it should come on to blow from 
south-east, of which there was no symptom, and 
leaving him under the care of Sandy, who at 
my expense stood treat to him, I made oif for 
Candleston, not even stopping for a chat with 
Boger Berkrolles. The colonel, of course, as well 
as his sister Lady Bluett, and Rodney, were de- 
lighted with what I had to tell them, while the 
maid herself listened with her face concealed to 
the tale of her own misfortune. Once or twice 
she whispered to herself, “Oh my poor, poor fa- 
ther ! ” and when I had ended she rose from the 
sofa, where Lady Bluett’s arm was around her, 
and went to the colonel and said, “How soon 
will you take me to my father ?” 

“My darling Bertha,” said the colonel, em- 
bracing her as if she had been his daughter, 
“we will start to-morrow, if Llewellyn thinks 
the weather quite settled, and the boat quite 
safe. He knows so much about boats, you 
see. It would take us a week to go round by 
land. But Ave won’t start at all, if you cry, my 
dear!” 

I did not altogether like the tone of the col- 
onel’s allusion to me ; still less was I pleased 
Avhen he interrupted Lady Bluett’s congratula- 
tions, thanks, and fervent praises of my skill, 
perseverance, and trustiness, in discovering all 
this villainy. 

“ Humph !” said the colonel ; “I am not quite 
sure that this villainy would haA'e succeeded so 
long, unless a certain small boat had proved so 
adapted for fishing purposes.” 

“Why, Henry,” cried his sister; “hoAV very 
unlike you ! What an unworthy insinuation ! 
After all Mr. Llewellyn has done, it is positive- 
ly ungrateful. And he spoke of that boat in this 
A'ery room, as I can perfectly well remember, not 


OF SKER. 173 

— oh not — I am sure, any more than a very few 
years ago, my dear.” 

“Exactly,” said the colonel ; “too few years 
ago. If he had spoken of that at the time as 
distinctly as he did afterwards, when the heat of 
inquiry was over, and when Sir Philip himself 
had abandoned it, I do not see how all this con- 
fusion between tlie loss of a foreign ship and the 
casting away of a British boat could have arisen, 
or at any rate could have failed to be cleared 
away. Llewellyn, you know that I do not judge 
hastily. Sir, I condemn your conduct.” 

“Oh, colonel, how dreadful of you! Mr. 
Llewellyn, go and look at the weather, while I 
prove to the colonel his great mistake. Yon did 
speak of the boat at the very inquest, in the most 
noble and positive manner ; and nobody would 
believe you, as you your very self told me. What 
more could any man do ? We are none of us safe, 
if we do our very best, and have it turned against 
us.” 

My conscience all this time was beating so 
that I could hear it. This is a gift very good 
men have, and I have made a point of never fail- 
ing to cultivate it. In this trying moment, with 
even a man so kind and blameless suddenly pos- 
sessed, no doubt, by an evil spirit against me, 
staunch as rock my conscience stood, and to my 
support it rose, creditably for both of us. 

“Colonel Lougher,” my answer was, “you 
will regret this attack on the honor of a British 
officer — one, moreover, whose great-grandfather 
harped in your honor’s family. Captain Bluett 
understands the build of a boat as well as I do. 
He shall look at that boat to-morrow morning, 
and if he declares her to be English-built, you 
may set me down, with all my stripes and med- 
als, for a rogue, sir. But if he confirms my 
surety of her being a foreigner, nothing but dif- 
ference of rank Avill excuse you. Colonel Lougher, 
from being responsible to me.” 

My spirit was up, as you may see; and the 
honor of the British navy forced me to speak 
strongly : although my affection for the man was 
such that, sooner than offend him, I would have 
my other arm shot away. 

“Llewellyn,” said the colonel, with his fine 
old smile spreading very pleasantly upon his no- 
ble countenance; “you are of the peppery order 
which your old Welsh blood produces. Think 
no more of my words for the present. And if 
my nephew agrees with you in pronouncing the 
boat a foreigner, I will give you full satisfaction 
by asking your pardon, Llewellyn. It was 
enough to mislead any man.” 

Not to dwell upon this mistake committed by 
so good a man, but which got abroad somehow 
— though my old friend Crumpy, I am sure, 
could never have been listening at the door — be 
it enough in this hurry to say, that on the next 
morning I was enabled to certify the weather. 
A smartish breeze from the north-north-west, with 
the sea rather dancing than running, took poor 
Bardie to her native coast, from which the liot 
tide had borne her. Before we set sail, I had 
been to Sker in Colonel Lougher’s two-wheeled 
gig, and obtained from good Moxy the child’s 
jemmyset from the old oak chest it was stored 
in. 

And now I did a thing which must forever ac- 
quit me of all blame so wrongfully cast upon me. 
That is to say, I fetched out the old boat, which 


174 


THE MAID. OF SI^ER. 


Sandy Macraw had got covered up ; and releas- 
ing him in the most generous manner from years 
and years of back rent, what did I do but hitch 
her on to the stern of the pilot-yawl, for to tow ? 
Not only this, but I managed that Rodney should 
sail on board as her skipper, and for his crew 
should have somebody who had crossed the Chan- 
nel before in that same boat, sixteen years agone, 
I declare! And they did carry on a bit, now 
and then, w'hen our sprit-sail hid them from our 
view. For the day was bright, and the sea was 
smooth. 

The colonel and I were on board of the yawl, 
enjoying perfect harmony. For Captain Rodney 
of course had confirmed my opinion as to the 
build of the boat, and his uncle desired to beg my 
pardon, which the largeness of my nature quite 
refused to hear of. If a man admits that he has 
wronged me, satisfied I am at once, and do not 
even point out always that I never could have 
done the like to him. 

Colonel Lougher had often been at sea, in the 
time of his active service, and he seemed to en- 
joy this trip across channel, and knew all the 
names of the sails and spars. But falling in 
as we did with no less than three or four small 
craft on our voyage, he asked me how Delushy’s 
boat could possibly have been adrift for a whole 
night and day on the Channel, without any ship 
even sighting her. I told him that this was as 
simple as could be, during that state of the weath- 
er. A burning haze, or steam from the land, lay 
all that time on the water; and the lower part 
thereof w as white, while the upper spread was 
yellow. Also, the sea itself w^as white from the 
long-continued calmness, so that a wdiite boat 
scarcely would show at half a mile of distance. 
And even if it did, what sailors were likely to 
keep a smart look-out in such roasting weather ? 
IMen talk of the heat ashore sometimes ; but I 
know that for downright smiting, blinding, and 
overwhelming sun-pow’^er, there is nothing ashore 
to compare with a ship. 

Also, I told the colonel, now that his faith in 
me ■was re-established, gliding over the water 
thus, I was enabled to make plain to him things 
■wdiich if he had been ashore might have lain per- 
haps a little beyond his understanding. I showed 
him the set of the tides by tossing corks from his 
bottles overboai’d, and begging him to take a glass 
of my perspective to •watch them. And he took 
such interest in this, and evinced so much sagac- 
ity, that, in order to carry on my reasoning with 
any perspicacity, cork after cork I was forced to 
draw, to establish my veracity. 

Because he would argue it out that a boat, un- 
manned and even unmasted, never could have 
crossed the Channel as Bardie’s boat must needs 
have done. I answ’ered that I might have thought 
so also, and had done so for years and years, till 
there came the fact to the contrary ; of which I 
tvas pretty well satisfied now ; and when the boat 
was produced and sworn to, who would not be 
satisfied ? Also, I begged to remind him how 
strongly the tide ran in our channel, and that even 
in common weather the ebb of the spring out of 
Barnstaple River might safely be put at four knots 
an hour, till Hartland Point was doubled. Here, 
about two in the morning, the flood would catch 
the little wanderer, and run her up channel some 
ten or twelve miles, with the night-wind on the 
starboard - beam driving her also northward. 


Wlien this was exhausted, the ebb would take 
her into Swansea Bay almost, being so light a 
boat as she was, with a southern breeze prevail- 
ing. And then the next flood might w'ell bring 
her to Sker — exactly the thing that had come to 
pass. IMoreover, I thought, as I told the colonel 
(although of course w’ith diffidence), from long 
acquaintance with tropical waters and the power 
of the sun upon them, I thought it by no means 
unlikely that the intense heat of the weather, then 
for more than six weeks prevailing, might have 
had some strong effect on the set and the speed 
of the currents. 

However, no more of arguments. What good 
can they do, when the thing is there, and no rea- 
soning can alter it? Even Parson Chowne might 
argue, and no doubt would with himself (although 
too proud with other people), that all he did was 
right, and himself as good a man as need be. 

We ran across channel in some six hours, hav- 
ing a nice breeze abaft the beam, and about the 
middle of the afternoon we landed at Ilfracombe 
cleverly. This is a little place lying in a hole, 
and with great rocks all around it, fair enough to 
look at, but more easy to fall down than to get 
up them. And even the Barnstaple Road is so 
steep that the first hill takes nearly two hours of 
climbing. Therefore, in spite of all eager spirits, 
we found ourselves forced to stay there that night, 
for no one would horse us onward so late as this 
November season. 

Perhaps, however, it was worth while to lose a 
few hours for the sake of seeing Delushy’s joy in 
her native land. This, like a newly-opened spring, 
arose, and could not contain itself. As soon as 
her foot touched the shore, I began to look for- 
ward to a bout of it; for I understand young 
women now very well, though the middle-aged 
are beyond me. These latter I hope to be up to, 
if ever I live to the age of fourscore years, as my 
constitution promises. And if the Lord should 
be pleased to promote me to the ripe and honest 
century (as was done to my great-grandfather), 
then I shall understand old women also, though 
perhaps without teeth to express it. 

However this was a pretty thing, and it touch- 
ed me very softly. None but those who have 
roamed as 1 have understand the heart-ache. 
For my native land I had it, ever and continual- 
ly, and in the roar of battle I w'as borne up by 
discharging it. And so I could enter into our 
poor Bardie, going about with the teai's in her 
eyes. For she would not allow me to rest at the 
inn, as I was fain to do, in the society of some 
ancient fishermen, and to leave the gentlefolk to 
their own manner of getting through the even- 
ing. “Come out,” she cried, “Old Davy; you 
are the only one that knows the way about this 
lovely place.” Of course I had no choice but to 
obey Sir Philip’s own granddaughter, although I 
could not help grumbling ; anff thus we began to 
explore a lane as crooked as a corkscrew, and 
with ferns like palm-trees feathering. In among 
them little trickling rills of water tinkled, or were 
hushed sometimes by moss, and it looked as if no 
frost could enter through the leafy screen above. 

“ What a country to be born in ! What a 
country to belong to!” exclaimed the maid con- 
tinually, sipping from each crystal runnel, and 
stroking the ferns with reverence. “Lmcle 
Henry, don’t you think now that it is enongli to 
make one ha})py to belong to such a land ?” 


175 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


“Well, my dear,” said her uncle Henry, as 
she had been CA'dered to call the colonel, “ I think 
it would still more conduce to happiness for some 
of the land to belong to you. Ah, Llewellyn, I 
see, is of my opinion.” 

So I was, and still more so next day, when, 
having surmounted that terrible hill, we traveled 
down rich dairy valleys on our road to Barnsta- 
ple. Here we halted for refreshment, and to let 
Delushy rest and beautify herself, although we 
could see no need of that. And now she began 
to get so frightened that I was quite vexed with 
her : her first duty was to do me credit ; and how 
could she manage it, if her eyes were red ? The 
colonel also began to provoke me, for when I 
wanted to give the maid a stiff glass of grog to 
steady her, he had no more sense than to coun- 
termand it, and order a glass of cold water ! 

As soon as we came to Narnton Court, we 
found a very smart coach in the yard that quite 
put to shame our hired chaise, although the good 
colonel had taken four horses, so as to land us in 
moderate style. Of course it was proper that I, 
who alone could claim Sir Philip’s acquaintance, 
as well as the merit of the whole affair, should 
have the pleasure of introducing his new grand- 
child to him ; so that I begged all the rest to 
withdraw, and the only names that we sent in 
were Captain Llewellyn and “Miss Delushy.” 
Therefore we w’ere wrong, no doubt, in feeling 
first a little grievance, then a large-minded im- 
patience, and finally a strong desire — ay, and not 
the desire alone — to swear, before we got out of 
it. I speak of myself and Captain Bluett, two 
good honest sailors, accustomed to declare their 
meaning since the war enabled them. But Col- 
onel Lougher (who might be said, from his want 
of active service, to belong to a past generation), 
as well as Delushy, who was scarcely come into 
any generation yet — these two really set an ex- 
ample, good, though hard, to follow. 

■■<»■■■ -- 

CHAPTER LXVI. 

THE MAID AT LAST IS “dENTIFIED.” 

However, as too often happens, we blamed 
a good man without cause. A good man rarely 
deserves much blame; whereas a bad man can 
not have too much — whether he has earned it or 
otherwise — to restrain him from deserving more. 
The reason why Sir Philip Bampfylde kept us so 
long waiting proved to be a sound and valid one ; 
namely, that he was engaged in earnest and im- 
portant converse with his daughter-in-laAV, Lady 
Bampfylde, now wife (if you will please to re- 
member) to Commodore Sir Drake Bampfylde, 
although by birth entitled the Honorable Isabel 
Carey, the one that had been so good to me when 
I was a ferryman ; of superior order, certainly ; 
but still, no more than a ferryman ! 

Since my rise in the world began, I have found 
out one satisfactory thing — that a man gets on 
by merit. Hoav long did I despair of this, and 
smoke pipes, and think over it ; seeing many of 
my friends advancing, by what I call roguery! 
And but for the war (which proves the hearts and 
reins of men, as my ancestor says), I might still 
have been high and dry, being too honest for the 
fish-trade. However, true merit will tell in the 
end, if a man contrives to live long enough. So 


Avhen the beautiful lady came out through the 
room where I sat waiting, as I touched my ven- 
erable forelock to her (as humbly as if for a six- 
penny-piece), a brave man’s honest pride wrought 
weakness in my eyes as I gazed at her. I loved 
her husband, and I loved her; and I thought 
of the bitter luck between them, which had kept 
them separate. Partly, of course, the glory of 
England, and duty of a proud man’s birth ; partly 
also bad luck, of course, and a style of giving in 
to it ; but ten times more than these, the tricks 
that lower our fellow-creatures. 

This noble and stately lady did not at first sight 
recognize me ; but when I had told her in very 
few words who I was, and what I had done, and 
how long I had sailed with her husband, and how 
highly he respected me, her eyes brightened into 
the old sweet smile, although they bore traces of 
weeping. 

“My name is not ‘Lady Carey,’” she said, 
for I was calling her thus on purpose, not know- 
ing how she Avas taking wedlock, and being of 
opinion that an “honorable miss” ought always 
to be called a lady. “ My name is ‘Lady Bamp- 
fylde;’ and I like it, if you please : although I re- 
member, Mr. LleAvellyn, what your views are of 
matrimony. You used to declare them only too 
plainly wheneA^er Ave crossed your ferry, for the 
purpose, as I used to think, of driving poor Nan- 
ette to despair of you.” 

“And a lucky thing for me, your ladyship, to 
have acted so consistently. But his honor the 
commodore, of course, holds the opposite opin- 
ion,” 

“It is hard to guess the opinions of a com- 
modore always on service. Sir Drake, as I dare 
say you have heard, can scarcely bear to come 
home noAv.” 

I saAv that she was A'exed by something, and 
also vexed with herself, perhaps, for having even 
hinted it. For she turned her beautiful face 
aAvay, and Avithout a Avord Avould have left me. 
But Avith my usual quickness of step, I ran into 
the lobby-place, and back in a moment with our 
Delushy, clinging like a Avoodbine to a post. At 
such moments I neA'er speak, until Avomen begin 
Avith questions. It saves so much time to let 
them begin ; because they are sure to insist on 
it. MeariAvhile Delushy was making the prettiest 
courtesy that presence of mind permitted. 

“You loA^ely dear, A\'hy, Avho are you?” cried 
Lady Bampfylde, with a start, that made me 
dread hystei'ics. 

“I do not knoAA’-, madam,” answered Delushy, 
Avith the Avhole of her mind so Avell in hand, by 
reason of years of suffering; “but many people 
believe me to be the Bertha Bampfylde that Avas 
lost nearly twenty years agone.” 

“What! The baby! The baby — at least 
one of the babies — that my husband — David 
Llewellyn, this is very crael of you.” 

And that was all the thanks I got ! While, 
Avhat could I have done otherAvise ? In five 
minutes more, she would have been off in her 
grand coach Avith six horses, after offending Sir 
Philip so much that he could not have borne to 
look after her ; although, of course, he Avas noAV 
coming out like a gentleman to a visitor. Seeing 
such a pay-night coming, and a large confusion, 
I begged Colonel Lougher and Captain Bluett to 
keep for a little while out of it. And nothing 
could more truly prove how thoroughly these 


176 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


were gentlemen, than that they withdrew to a 
niche of the under-butler’s pantry whei'ein they 
could hear no word of it. 

It was now my place to stand forward brave- 
ly, and to put things clearly ; without any further 
loss of reason, and even without considering how 
these delicate ladies might contrive to take my 
meaning nicely. To spare good ladies from any 
emotion is one of the main things of my life ; 
although they show such a want of gratitude, 
when I have done my utmost. But I had no 
scruple about frightening Sir Philip, because of 
his confidence in the Lord. Therefore, abandon- 
ing Lady Bampfylde to the care of her maid, 
who was running up from the servants’ hall to 
look after her, I fixed my hook (screwed on for 
the pui-pose) firmly into Delushy’s sleeve, that 
she might not faint, or run away, or do any thing 
else unreasonable, and I led her up the long hall 
to meet Sir Philip, as he came down the steps at 
the upper end thereof. 

The old general looked rather haggard and 
feeble, as if the power of his life were lowered by 
pei'petual patience. But something had happen- 
ed to vex him, no doubt, in his interview with 
Lady Bampfylde, so that he walked with more 
than his usual stateliness and dignity. He had 
never beheld me as a one-armed man, nor yet in 
my present uniform, for I took particular care to 
avoid him during the day or two spent at his 
house before I went to Burlington,- so for a mo- 
ment he did not know me, but gazed with sur- 
prise at the lovely figure which I was sustaining 
so clumsily. 

“ Sir Philip Bampfylde, allow me,” I said, 
stretching forth my right hand to him, “to re- 
pay you for some of the countless benefits you 
have heaped upon me, by presenting you with 
your long-lost granddaughter — and your grand- 
son to come afterwards.” 

“It can not be; it can not be,” was all he 
could say, although for so many years he had 
shown his faith that it must be. His fine old 
countenance turned as white as the silver hair 
that crowned it, and then as red as it could have 
been in the hopeful blush of boyhood. And the 
pure and perfect delicacy of high birth quickened 
Avith sorrow prevented him from examining De- 
lushy, as he longed to do. 

“Speak up, child, speak up,” said I, giving 
her a haul with my hook, as when first I landed 
her; “can’t you tell your dear grandfather how 
glad you are to see him ?” 

“That I will, with ail my heart,” the maiden 
answered bashfully, yet lifting her eyes to the old 
man’s face Avith pride as Avell as reverence; “as 
soon as I perceive that you, sir, wish to hear me 
say it.” 

“ You will not think me rude — I am scarcely 
strong enough for this — it has come on me so 
suddenl)’-. And it must be quite as bad for you. 
Lead the young lady to a chair, Llewellyn. Or, 
stay; I beg your pardon. It Avill perhaps be 
better to call our kind and worthy housekeeper.” 

Sir Philip perceived a thing Avhich had escaped 
me, though brought to my notice beforehand by 
our good Colonel Lougher ; that is to say, how 
hard it Avould be upon the feelings of this young 
girl, to have her ‘ ‘ identity ” (as CroAvner BoAvles 
entitled it) discussed in her OAvn presence. There- 
fore she was led UAvay by that regular busybody 
the housekeeper, Mrs. Cockhanterbury ; Avhile 1 1 


begged leave to introduce Colonel Lougher and 
Captain Bluett to Sir Philip Bampfylde. And 
then, Avhen all had made their bows and all due 
salutations, I was called upon to shoAv my docu- 
ments and explain the evidence so carefully gath- 
ered by me. 

It is as much abov^e my power as beyond my 
purpose to tell how that ancient and noble gen- 
tleman, after so much Avorry from the long neg- 
lect of Providence, took (as if he had never de- 
served it) this goodness of the Lord to him. Of 
course, in my class of life, Ave can not be always 
dwelling on children ; Avhose nature is provoking 
always, and in nothing more so than that they 
Avill come when not Avanted ; yet are not fortli- 
coming with the folk who can afford them. Nev- 
ertheless, I think that if the Lord had allowed 
any thief of a felloAv (much more one of his own 
ministers) to steal two grandchildren of mine, and 
make a saA’age of one baby, and of the other a 
castaAvay, the whole of my piety would have been 
very hard pushed to produce any gratitude. Sir 
Philip, hoAvever, did appear most truly desirous 
to thank God for this great mercy A’ouchsafed to 
him ; even before he had thoroughly gone through 
the ins and outs of the evidence. For he begged 
us to excuse him, Avhile he should go to see to 
our comfort ; and two fine bottles of wine (Avliite 
and red) appeared and began to disappear, under 
my hatches mainly, before our noble host came 
back to set us a good example. And when he 
came he had quite forgotten to dust the knees of 
some fine kerseymere, and the shins of black silk 
stockings. 

Deep sense of religion is quite in its place Avhen 
a man has had one arm shot off', still more so if 
both arms are gone, and after a leg indispensa- 
ble. NeA’ertheless it must not be intruded upon 
any one ; no, not even by the chaplain, till the 
doctor shakes his head. KnoAving also that Col- 
onel Lougher had a tendency towards it (enough 
to stop the decanters if he should get upon that 
subject with the arguments it sticks fast in), I 
Avas delighted to see Delushy slipping into the 
room as if she had knoAvn the place fora century. 
The general clearly had managed to visit her dur- 
ing the time of his absence from us ; what pass- 
ed betAveen them matters not, except that he must 
ha\’e acknowledged her. For now she AA'ent up 
to him and kissed him ; rather timidly, perhaps, 
but still she touched his forehead. Then he 
arose and stood A'ery upright, as if he had never 
begun to stoop, and passing his arm round her 
delicate AA’aist, iDoth her hands he took in his. 
And as they faced us, Ave Avere struck Avitli the 
likeness between blooming youth and w'om but 
yet majestic age. 

“ Gentlemen,” he said, “ or rather I should call 
you kind good friends, you have brought me not 
only a grandchild, but the very one I Avould have 
chosen if the Avhole world gave me choice. By- 
and-by you shall see her stand by the picture of 
my dear and long-lamented Avife. That, I think, 
Avill conA'ince you that Ave Avant no further evi- 
dence. For me, these thumb-nails are enough. 
Bertha, shoAv your thumb-nails.” 

She laughed her usual merry laugh (although 
she had been ciying so) Avhile she spread her dain- 
ty hands, exactly as she used to spread them, 
Avhen she Avas only tAVO years old, Avith me alone 
to look at her. 

“Here it is, sir,” cried the general, OA’erlooking 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


177 


me, in the rush of his sentiments towards the col- 
onel ; “ here is the true Bampfylde mark. Even 
the Bassets have it not, nor the Traceys, nor the 
St. Albyns. Will you oblige me by observing 
that these two thumb-nails have a most undoubt- 
ed right and left to them ? Bertha, do try to keep 
still for a moment!” 

“Well, I declare,” said the colonel, calmly 
taking out his eye-glass; “yes, I declare you are 
right, ray good sir. Here is a most evident right 
and left — Andalusia, do stand still! — not only in 
the half-moons at the base, but in the vein, and 
what I may call the radiants of the pinkness. I 
can not express my meaning, but — my darling, 
come and kiss me.” 

This Delushy did at once, as for years she used 
to do ; and not being certain even now whether 
she ought to forsake the colonel for a general, 
though proved to be a newly-tumed-up grandfa- 
ther. None of us had thought of her, and the 
many shifts of female wind, coming to pass per- 
haps inside her little brain and heart so. Where- 
fore this poor David, who desires always to be the 
last, but by force of nature is compelled forever 
to take the lead — I it was who got her off to bed, 
that we might talk of her. 

■» 

CHAPTER LXVII. 

DOG EATS DOG. 

To a man, whose time of life begins to be a 
subject of some consideration to him, when the 
few years still in hope can be counted on a hand, 
and may not need a finger ; and with the tide of 
this world ebbing to the inevitable sea — to him 
there is scarcely any sweet and gentle pastime 
more delightful than to sit on a bank of ancient 
moss, beside a tidal river, and watch the decreas- 
ing waters, and prove his own eternity by casting 
a pebble into them. 

Hence it was that Sir Philip Bampfylde, on the 
very morning after I gave him back his grand- 
child, sat gazing into the ebb of the Tawe, some 
fifty yards below the spot Avhence Jack Wild- 
man’s father carried off so wickedly that helpless 
pair of children. Here it was my privilege to 
come up to Sir Philip, and spread before him my 
humble reasons for having preferred the kitchen 
last night to the dining-room and the drawing- 
room. It was consistent with my nature; and 
he, though wishing otherwise, agreed not to be 
offended. 

Then I asked him how the young lady (whose 
health eveiy one of us had honored all over the 
kitchen-table) had contrived to pass the night, and 
whether she had seen her father yet. He said 
she had slept pretty well considering, but that as 
concerned her father, they had not thought it 
wise to let her see him until the doctor came. 
There was no telling how it might act upon Squire 
Philip’s constitution, after so many years of mis- 
ery, cobwebs, and desolation. For Providence 
had not gifted him with a mind so strong as his 
father’s was, and the sudden break in on the death 
of the mind has been known, in such a case, to 
lead to bodily decease. But few things vexed 
the general more than that wretched lie of 
Chowne’s, and slander upon a loyal family while 
in service of the crown. What Captain Drake 
had landed from the boat was not an arm-chest, 


but a chest of plate and linen belonging to his 
brother, which he would no longer borrow, while 
the squire so cruelly dealt with him. 

Then I asked Sir Philip whether the ancient 
builder over at Appledore had been sent for to 
depose to the boat ; for we had brought that little 
craft on the top of our coach from Ilfracombe. 
The general said that I might see him even now 
examining her, if I would only take the trouble 
to look round the comer ; but he himself was so 
well conrinced, without any further testimony, 
that he did not even care to hear what the old 
man had to say of it, any more than he cared for 
the jemmyset. This, however, is not my manner 
of regarding questions. Not from any private 
fountains of conviction, and so on, but out of the 
mouths of many witnesses shall a thing be estab- 
lished. Therefore I hastened round the corner, 
to sift this ancient boatwright. 

As surly a fellow as ever lived, and, from his 
repugnance to my uniform, one who had made 
more money, I doubt, by the smuggler’s keg than 
the shipwright’s adze. Entering into his nature 
at sight, I took the upper-hand of him, as my rank 
insisted on. 

“Hark ye now, master ship-carpenter, where 
was this little craft put together, according to 
your opinion ?” 

Either this fellow was deaf as a post, or else 
he meant to insult me, for he took no more notice 
of nae than he did of the pigs that were snuffling 
at beech-nuts down by the side of the landing- 
place. I am not the right man to put up with 
insolence ; therefore I screwed my hammer-head 
into the socket below my muscles, and thereAvith 
dealt him a tap on his hat, just to show what 
might come afterwards. 

Receiving this administration, and seeing that 
more was very likely from the same source to be 
available, what did this rogue do but endeavor to 
show the best side of his manners. Wherefore, 
to let him have his say, here is his opinion : 

“This here boat be the same as I built, year 
as my wife were took with quinzy, and were call- 
ed home by the Lord. I built her for Wild-duck 
of Appledore^ a little dandy-rigged craft as used 
to be hired by Cap’en Bampfylde. To this here 
boat I can swear, although some big rogue have 
been at work painting her, as knew not how to 
paint; and a lubber, no doubt, eveiy now and 
then patching her up or repairing of her. The 
name in her stem have been painted up from 
Wild-duck^ Appledore^ into Santa Lucia, Sal- 
vador; three or four letters are my own, the rest 
are the work of some pirate. She be no more 
foreign-build than I be. But a sailor accustomed 
to foreign parts ivould be sure to reckon so ; rea- 
son why, I served my time with a builder over to 
Port-au-Prince. And I should like to see the 
man anyivhere round these here parts as can 
tuck in the bends as I does.” 

Leaving this conceited fellow to his narrow un- 
pleasantness, I turned my head, and there beheld 
Captain Bluett hearkening. 

“Come,” he cried out, in his hearty manner, 
“ what a cook’s boiling of fools we are ! Here 
we are chewing a long-chewed quid, while the 
devil that brewed this gale of wind may fiy far 
away and grin at us. Llewellyn, do you mean 
to allow — ” 

“ Hush !” I said softly, for that low shipwright 
showed his eyes coming up under his cap. And 


178 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


I saw that he was that particular villain, after his 
scurrilous words about me, who would sell his 
soul to that wretch of a Chowne for half a crown a 
week almost. Therefore I led our young CajDtain 
Bluett well away out of this fellow’s hearing. 

“Davy,” said he, “we all know your courage, 
your readiness, and your resources. Still you 
appear to be under a spell — and you know you 
are superstitious about this cunning and coward- 
ly blackguard, who frightens the whole of this 
country, as he never could frighten Glamorgan- 
shire.” 

“ I have no fear of him, sir,” I said ; “I will 
go with you to confront him.” 

‘ ‘ Why, your teeth are ready to chatter, Lle- 
wellyn ; and your lips are blue ! You who stood 
like a mile-stone, they tell me, at the helm of the 
Goliath, or like a clock going steadily tick, be- 
fore we fired a shot, and with both shell and shot 
through your gray whiskers — ” 

“ But, captain, a minister of the Lord — ” 

“ Master, a minister of the devil — once for all, 
to-day I go to horsewhip him, if he is young 
enough, or to pull his nose, if he is old enough, 
and old Harry be with him in choice of the two ! 
Zounds, sir, is it a thing to laugh at ?” 

Rodney Bluett was well known to every one 
who seiwed under him for the mildness of his 
language, and the want of oaths he had ; and so, 
of course, for his self-control, and the power of 
his heart w'hen it did break forth. Every body 
loved him, because he never cursed any one at a 
venture, and kept himself very close to facts, 
however hard driven by circumstances ; so that 
I was now amazed to hear this young man spoil 
my pipe with violent emotions. 

‘ ‘ Have you consulted Sir Philip ?” I asked. 
“ It is his place to take up the question.” 

“What question ? There is no question. The 
thing is proved. My duty is plain. Sir Philip 
is too old to see to it. The squire is a spooney. 
The commodore is not here yet. I have spoken 
to his wife, who is a very sweet and wise lady ; 
and she agrees with me that it will save the fam- 
ily a world of scandal, and perhaps failure of the 
law, for me to take the law into my own hands 
and thrash this blackguard within an inch of his 
life.” 

“To be sure, and save her husband from the 
risk of tackling a desperate man. It is most 
wise on her part. But I beg you, my dear sir, 
for the sake of your dear uncle and your good 
mother, keep clear of this quarrel. You know 
not the man you have to deal with. Even if you 
can thrash him, which is no easy business, he 
will shoot you afterwards. He is the deadest 
shot in the country.” 

“Hurrah !” cried Rodney, tossing up his hat ; 
‘ ‘ that entirely settles it. Come along, old fel- 
low, and show us the way ; and not a word to 
any one.” 

Now this may seem a very mad resolve for a 
man of my sense to give in to. But whether I 
turned myself this way or that, I could see no 
chance of bettering it. If I refused to go, young 
Rodney (as I could see by the set of his mouth) 
would go alone, and perhaps get killed, and then 
how could any of the family ever look at me 
again ? On the other hand, if I should go to the 
colonel or to the general for opinion, and to beg 
them to stop it, my interference — nine chances 
to one — would only end in giving offense among 


the superior orders. Add to this my real desire 
to square it out with Chowne himself, after all 
his persecution, and you may be able to forgive 
me for getting upon horseback, after many years 
of forbearance, and with my sugar-nippers screw- 
ed on, to lay hold by the forestay, if she should 
make bad weather. Also, I felt it my duty to 
take a double-barreled pistol, heavily loaded and 
well primed. 

Captain Rodney forged ahead so on a real 
hunting-craft, that my dappled gray, being war- 
ranted not to lurch me overboard, could not 
keep in line whatever sail I made upon her. My 
chief rule in life is not to hurry. What good 
ever comes of it ? People only abuse you, and 
your breath is too short to answer them. More- 
over, I felt an uneasy creaking in my bends from 
dousing forward, and then easing backward, as 
a man must do who knows how to ride. The 
captain was wroth with me, out of all reason ; 
but as he could not find the way to Nympton 
Moors without me, I was enabled to take my 
leisure, having the surety of overgetting him 
when the next cross-road came. Therefore it 
was late afternoon when we tinmed into the black 
fir-grove which led up to the house of Chowne, 
and Rodney Bluett clutched the big whip in his 
hand severely. For we had asked at the little 
inn of which I spoke a long time ago whether 
the parson was now at home. 

“Ay, that ’un be,” said the man, with a grin, 
for we did not see the landlady; “but ye best 
way not to go nigh ’un.” 

Already I seemed not to feel as I hoped, in 
the earlier stage of the journey. My thoughts 
had been veiy upright for awhile, and spirited, 
and delighted ; but now I began to look at things 
from a different point of view almost. It is not 
man’s business to worry his head about righting 
of wrongs in this world, unless they are done to 
himself ; and if so, revenge is its name, and an 
ugly one. Long life leads one to forgive, when 
to carry it on w'ould be troublesome. 

Through the drip of dying leaves, the chill of 
dull November now began to darken over us as 
we turned the corner of Chowne’s own road, raid 
faced his lonely mansion. The house had a 
heavy and sullen look, according to my ideas, 
not receiving light and pleasure of the sun when 
possible. bleavy fir-trees overhung it, never 
parting with their weight ; and the sunset (when 
there was any) could not pierce the holm-oaks. 

“What a gloomy and devilish place!” cried 
Rodney Bluett, beginning to tremble from some 
unknown influence. “Upon my soul, if I lived 
here, I should be hatching plots myself. Or is 
it the nature of the man that has made the place 
so horrible ?” 

“ Let us go back,” said I ; “come back, my 
good sir, I conjure you. Such a man should be 
left to God, to punish in His own good time.” 

“Hark!” cried Rodney, pulling up, and list- 
ening through the gloomy wood ; “ that was a 
woman’s scream, I am sure. Is he murdering 
some more little ones ?” 

We listened, and heard a loud piercing shriek 
that made our hair stand on end almost, so mad 
was it, and so unearthly ; and then two more 
of yet wilder agony ; and after that a long low 
wailing. 

“On, on!” cried Rodney Bluett ; “you know 
these paths ; gallop on, Davy.” 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


179 


“You go first,” I answered ; “your horse is 
fresher ; I am coming — to be sure I am. Do you 
think I am frightened ?” 

“ Well, I don’t know,” he replied ; “but I am 
not ashamed to own that I am.” 

Clapping spurs to his horse, he dashed on; 
and thoroughly miserable as I felt, there was 
nothing for me but to follow him. 

In the name of the Lord, what a sight we came 
on, where the drive sweeps round at the corner 
of the house ! Under a dark tree of some sort, 
and on a garden bench, we discovered the fig- 
ures of two women — or rather, one sat on the 
bench ; the other lay stretched on the ground, 
with her head cast recklessly back qn the ledge, 
her hair spread in masses over it, and both hands 
pressed on her eyes and ears, to shut out sight 
and hearing. Her lips were open, and through 
her white teeth came wails of anguish that would 
have been shrieks, if nature had not failed her. 

But the elder woman sat upright, in scorn of 
all such weakness, with her gaunt figure drawn 
like a cable taut, no sign of a tear on her shrunk- 
en cheeks, and the whole of her face as numb 
and cold as an iced figure-head in the Arctic seas. 
Yet no one, with knowledge of the human race, 
could doubt Avhich of these two suffered most. 

We reined up our horses and gazed in terror, 
for neither of them noticed us, and then we heard 
from inside the house sounds that made our flesh 
creep. Barking, howling, snapping of teeth, bay- 
ing as of a human blood-hound, frothy splutter- 
ings of fury, and then smothered yelling. 

“Her have a gat ’un now,” cried a clown, run- 
ning round the end of the house as if he were 
enjoying it. “Reckon our passon wun’t baite 
much moore, after Passon Jack be atop of ’un.” 

“Oh, sir! oh, sir! oh, for God’s sake, sir!” cried 
the poor lady who had lain on the ground, rush- 
ing up to us, and kneeling, and trying to get hold 
of us ; “you must have come to stop it, sir. Only 
one hour — allow him one hour, dear, dear sirs, for 
repentance. He has not been a good man, I 
know, but I am his own wife, good kind sirs ; 
and if he could only have a little time, if it were 
only half an hour, he might, he might — ” 

Here a sound of throttling came through a 
broken window-pane, and down she fell insensi- 
ble. 

“What does it mean?” cried Rodney Bluett; 
“ is it murder, madness, or suicide ? Follow me, 
Davy. Here I go, anyhow, into the thick of it.” 

He dashed through the window ; and I, with 
more caution, cocking my pistol, followed him, 
while I heard the clown shouting after us — 

“ Danged vules both of ’e. Bide outside, bide 
outside, I tell ’e.” 

Oh that we had remained outside! I have 
been through a great deal of horrible sights, 
enough to harden any man, and cure him of 
womanly squeamishness, yet never did I behold 
or dream of any thing so awful as the scene that 
lay before me. People were longing to look at 
it now, but none (save ourselves) durst enter. 

It ■was Chowne’s own dining-room, all in the 
dark, except -where a lamp had been brought in 
by a trembling footman, who ran away, knowing 
that he brought this light for his master to be 
strangled by. And in the corner now lay his 
master smothered under a feather-bed, yet with 
his vicious head fetched out in the last rabid 
struggle to bite. There was the black hair, black 


face, and black tongue, shown by the frothy wain- 
scot, or between it and the ticking. On the feath- 
er-bed lay exhausted, and with his mighty frame 
convulsed, so that a child might master him. 
Parson Jack Rambone, the strongest man, whose 
strength (like all other powers) had laid a horri- 
ble duty upon him. Sobbing with all his great 
heart he lay, yet afraid to take his weight off, and 
sweating at every pore with labor, peril of his 
life, and agony. 

“Oh Dick, Dick,” he said, quite softly, and 
between his pantings; “how many larks have 
we had together, and for me to have to do this to 
you ! I am sure you knew me before you died. 
I think you know me now, Dick. Oh, for God’s 
sake, shut your eyes! Darling Dick, are you 
dead, are you dead ? You are the very cleverest 
fellow ever I came across of. You can do it, if 
you like. Oh, dear Dick, Dick, my boy, do shut 
your eyes!” 

We stood looking at them, with no power to 
go up to them; all experience failed us as to 
what was the proper thing to do, till I saw that 
Chowne’s face ought to have a napkin over it. 
None had been laid for dinner ; but I knew where 
butlers keep them. 

When I had done this. Parson Jack (who could 
not escape from the great black eyes) arose and 
said, “I thank you, sir.” He staggered so that 
we had to support him ; but not a word could we 
say to him. “I am bitten in two places, if not 
more,” he rather gasped than said to us, as he 
laid bare his enormous arms. ‘ ‘ I care not much. 
I will follow my friend. Or if the Lord should 
please to spare me, henceforth I am an altered 
man. And yet, for the sake of my family, will 
you heat the kitchen poker ?” 


CHAPTER LXVIII. 

THE OLD PITCHER AT THE WELL AGAIN. 

It helps a thoughtless man on his road to- 
wards a better kingdom to get a glimpse, every 
now and then, of such visitations of the Lord. 
When I was a little boy, nothing did me so much 
good in almost all the Bible as to hear my father 
read the way in which Herod was eaten of worms. 
And now, in mature years, I received quite a se- 
rious turn by the death of this Parson Chowne 
of ignominious canine madness. And still more, 
when I came to know by what condign parental 
justice this visitation smote him. 

For while the women were busy up stairs by 
candle-light, and with some weeping, it fell to 
Parson Rambone’s lot to lay the truth before us. 
This great man took at once to Captain Rodney 
Bluett, as if he had known him for years ; nor 
did he fail to remember me, and in his distress 
to seek some comfort from my simple wisdom. 
So having packed all the country boobies, con- 
stables, doctors, and so on, out of the house, we 
barred the door, made a bright fire in the kitch- 
en, and sat down in front of it, while a nice cook 
began to toss up some sweet-breads, and eggs, and 
ham-collops, and so on, for our really now high- 
ly necessary sustenance. 

You may remember the time I met with a 
very nice fellow (then Chowne’s head-groom), 
who gave me a capital supper of tripe elegantly 
stewed by a young cook-maid, himself lamenting 


180 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


the stress (laid upon him by circumstances) not 
to make his wife of her. He told me, then, with 
a sigh of affection between his knife and fork, 
that social duties compelled him instead to mar- 
ry a publican’s daughter, with fifty pounds down 
on the nail, he believed, if it was a penny. Nev- 
ertheless, he felt confident that all would be or- 
dered aright in the end. Now Providence had 
not allowed such a case of faith to pass unre- 
warded. He married the publican’s daughter, 
got her money, and paid the last sad duties to 
her, out of the pocket of his father-in-law, in a 
Christian-minded manner. And then back he 
came to Nympton Rectory, and wedded that 
same cook-maid, who now was turning our ham 
so cleverly with the egg-slice. Thus we could 
speak before them both, without the least con- 
straint; and indeed he helped us much by his 
knowledge of the affairs of the family. Also two 
justices of the peace, who had signed the war- 
rant for poor Chowne’s end, upon the report of 
the doctors, but could find no one of strength 
and courage to carry it Out except Parson Jack ; 
these sat with us to get their supper before the 
long cold ride over the moors. And there sat 
Parson Jack himself, with his thick hands trem- 
bling, hopeless of eating a morsel, but dreading 
to be left alone for a moment. 

“What a difference it will make in all this 
neighborhood, to be sure!” So said one of their 
worships. 

“Ay, that it will,” answered his brother mag- 
istrate. “Since Tom Faggus died, there has 
not been such a man to be found nowhere round 
these here parts.” 

“No, nor Tom Faggus himself,” said the oth- 
er : “a noble highwayman he were; but for 
mind, not fit to hold a candle to our lamented 
friend now lying up there in the counterpane.” 

Parson Jack shuddered, and shook his great 
limbs, and feigned to have done so on pui-pose ; 
and then in defiance collected himself, and laid 
his iron hand on the table, watching every great 
muscle, to see how long he could keep it from 
trembling. Then I arose and grasped his hand 
— for nobody else understood him at all — and he 
let me take it with reluctance, wonder, and then 
deep gratitude. He had been saying to himself 
— as I knew, though his lips never moved ; and 
his face was set, in sconi of all our moralizing — 
within himself he had been thinking, “lam Jack 
Ketch ; I am worse ; I am Cain. . I have mur- 
dered my own dear brother.” And I, who had 
seen him brand his bitten arm with the red-hot 
poker, laying the glowing iron on until the blood 
hissed out at it, I alone could gauge the strength 
of heart that now enabled him to answer my 
grasp with his poor scorched arm, and to show 
his great tears, and check them. 

Enough of this ; I can not stand these melan- 
choly subjects. A man of irreproachable life, 
with a tendency towards gayety, never must al- 
low his feelings to play ducks and drakes with 
him. If the justice of the Almighty fell upon 
Chowne — as I said it would — let Cliowne die, 
and let us hope that his soul was not past praying 
for. It is not my place to be wretched, because 
the biggest villain I ever knew showed his wit by 
dying of a disease which gave him power to snap 
at the very devil when, in the fullness of time, he 
should come thirsting to lay hold of him. And 
but for my pui*pose of proving how purely justice 


does come home to us, w’ell contented would I be 
to say no more about him. Why had he been 
such a villain through life ? Because he was an 
impostor. Why did he die of rabid madness 
under the clutch of his own best friend ? Be- 
cause he lashed his favorite hound to fly at the 
throat of his own grandfather. 

Not only does it confirm one’s faith in the hon- 
esty of breeding, but it enables me to acquit all 
the Chownes of Devonshire — and a fine and 
wholesome race they are — of ever having pro- 
duced such a scamp in true course of legitimacy ; 
also, enables me not to point out, so much as to 
leave all my readers to think of, the humble yet 
undeniable traces of Old Davy’s sagacity. 

What had I said to Mrs. Steelyard when she 
overbore me so upon an empty stomach ? ‘ ‘ Mad- 
am,” I said, “your son, you mean!” And it 
proved to be one of my famous hits, at a range 
beyond that of other men. When great stirs 
happen, truth comes out, as an earthquake starts 
the weasels. 

Every body knows w’hat fine old age those 
wandering gypsies come to. The two most kill- 
ing cares we have are money and reputation. 
Here behold gypsy wisdom ! The disregard of 
the latter of the two does away with the plague 
of the former. They take what they want; 
while we clumsy fellows toil for the cash as the 
only way to get the good estimation. Hence it 
was that Chowne’s grandfather came about steal- 
ing as lively as ever, at the age of ninety. A 
wiry and leathery man he was, and had once 
been a famous conjurer. And now in his old 
age he came to sleep in his grandson’s barn, and 
to live on his grandson’s ducks, potatoes, and pig- 
eons. This was last han'est-time, j ust as Chowne 
was enjoying his bit of cub-hunting. 

Turning in from his sport one day in a very 
sulky humor, with the hounds he was educating, 
the parson caught his grandfather withdrawing 
in a quiet manner from the hen-roost. Not 
knowing who it was (for his mother had never 
explained a thing to him, not even that she was 
his mother), he thought it below his dignity to 
ride after this old fellow. But at his heels stalk- 
ed a young hound, who had vexed him all day 
by surliness, and was now whipped in for punish- 
ment. “At him — ’loo boy!” he called out; 
“Hike forrard, catch him by the leg, boy!” 
But the hound only showed his teeth and snarl- 
ed ; so that Chowne let out his long lash at him. 
In a moment the dog sprang at his master, who 
was riding a low cob-horse, and bit him in the 
thigh, and the horse in the shoulder, and then 
skulked off to his kenneL The hound w’as shot, 
and the horse shared his fi\te in less than six 
weeks afterw'ards ; and as for the parson, we 
know too well what they were forced to do with 
him. 

In her first horror, that stony woman, even 
Mrs. Steelyard, when her son came ravening at 
her, could not keep her secret. “ It is the judg- 
ment of God!” she cried; “after all, there is a 
God. He set the dogs at his grandfather, and 
now he would bite his own mother ! ” How she 
had managed to place him in the stead of the 
real Chowne heir I never heard, or at least no 
clear account of it ; for she was not (as we know 
already) one who would answer questions,’" Let 
hirar rest, whoever he was. His end was bad 
enough even for him. 


THE MAID OF SKER. 181 


Enough of this fright — for it was a fright even 
to me, I assure you — let us come back to the in- 
nocent people injured so long by his villainy. 
To begin with Parson Jack. Never in all his 
life had he taken a stroke towards his own salva- 
tion until, by that horrible job, he earned repent- 
ance, fear, and conscience. And not only this 
(for none of these would have stood him in any 
service with Chowne still at his elbow), but that 
the face — which had drawn him for years, like a 
loadstone of hell, to destruction — now ever pres- 
ent in its terror, till his prayers got rid of it, shone 
in the dark like the face of a scarecrow, if ever he 
durst think of wickedness. His wife found the 
benefit of this change, and so did his growing 
family, and so did the people who flocked to his 
church, in the pleasure of being afraid of him. 
In the roads, he might bite ; but in his surplice, 
he Avas bound to behave himself, or at least he 
must bite the church-warden first. Yet no one 
would have him to sprinkle a child until a whole 
year Avas over. And then he restored himself, 
under a hint from a man beyond him in intellect ; 
he made eA-ery body alloAv that the poker had en- 
tirely cured him, by preaching from the bottom 
of his chest, with a glass of Avater upon the cush- 
ion, a sermon that stirred every heart, Avith the 
text, “Is thy serA'ant a dog, that he should do 
tljis thing ?” 

I quit him Avith sorroAV, because I found him 
a man of true feeling and good tobacco. We 
got on together so Avarmly that expense alone 
divided us. He would haA'e had me for parish 
clerk, if I could have seen my Avay to it. 

What prevails Avith a man like me, foremost 
first of every thing? Why, love of the blessed 
native land — Avhich every good Welshman Avill 
love me for. I may have done a thing noAv and 
then below our native dignity, except to those 
AA’ho can enter into all the things Ave look at. It 
is not our nature altogether to go for less than 
our value. We knoAv that Ave are of the oldest 
blood to be found in this ancient island, and Ave 
ask nothing more than to be treated as the su- 
perior race should be. 

In the presence of such gi'eat ideas, Avho cares 
what becomes of me? I really feel that my 
marriage to Polly, and prolongation of a fine old 
breed, scarcely ought to be spoken of. A man 
Avho has described the battle of the Nile need not 
dwell on matrimony. 

Hurried speech does not become me on any 
other subject. Every body has the right to knoAv, 
and every body does know, hoAV the Avhole of 
North Devon AA'as filled with joy, talk, and dis- 
putation, as to Commodore Bampfylde and the 
brightness of his acquittal. They drcAv him from 
Barnstaple in a chaise, Avith only tAvo springs 
broken, men having taken the horses out and 
done their best at collar-work. He would haA^e 
gladly jumped out and kicked them but for the 
feeling of their good-Avill. 

Nothing Avould have detracted from this, and 
the feasts that Avere felt to be due upon it, if 
Squire Philip had only knoAvn how not to die 
at a time Avhen nobody was seasonably called on 
to think of death. But Avhen he learned the 
shame inflicted by himself on his ancient race, 
through trusting Chowne, and misbelieving his 
brother out of the self-same Avomb ; and, above 
all, Avhen he learned that ChoAvne was the bas- 
tard of a gypsy, he cast himself into his broth- 


er’s arms, fetched one long sigh, and departed 
to a better Avorld Avith his hat on. 

This was the best thing that he could do, if 
he had chosen the time aright, and it saved a 
world of trouble. Sir Philip felt it a good bit, 
of course, and so did Sir Drake Bampfylde. 
Nevertheless, if a living man Avithdraws into a 
shell so calmly, Avhat can he expect more lively 
than his undertakers ? 

This Avas good, and left room for Harry, or 
rather young Philip Bampfylde, to step into the 
proper shoes, and haA^e practice how to walk in 
them. Yet he Avas so caught with love of sei*v- 
ice and of the naAy, and so mad about Nelson, 
that the general could not help himself, but let 
him go to sea again. 

Nelson is afloat just noAV. The Crappos and 
the Dons appear to have made up their minds 
against us, and the former have the insolence to 
threaten a great invasion. If I only had tAvo 
arms, I Avould leave my Polly to howl about me. 
As it is, they have turned me into a herring! 
Colonel Lougher has raised a regiment, and I 
am first drill-sergeant ! 

Our dear Maid of Sker would also give her 
beautiful son, only six months old, Bampfylde 
Lougher Bluett, to go to the wars, and to fight 
the French, if any one could only shoAV her the 
Avay to do Avithout him. He cocks up his toes 
in a manner Avhich proves that his feet are meant 
for ratlines. 

How the war is raging! I run to and fro, 
upon hearing of Felix Farley’s Journal, and am 
only fit to talk of it. Sir Philip comes down 
with his best tobacco Avhenever he stops at Can- 
dleston. And a craft has been built for me on 
purpose by the old felloAv at Appledore, and her 
name it is the Maid of Sker, to dance across 
the Channel AvheneA^er a one-ai'med man can naA’- 
igate. Colonel Lougher, and even Lady Bluett, 
have such trust in me, that they cross if their 
dear Delushy seems to pine too much for her hus- 
bands And the Maid herself has brought her 
son, as proud as if he came out of a Avreck, to 
exhibit him to Moxy, and Roger, and Bunny, 
and Stradling, the clerk — in a word, to all the 
parish, and the extra-parochial district. 

Noav I hope that nobody Avill ask me any more 
questions concerning any one, male or female. 

I If I can not speak Avell of a person — my rule is^ 
to be silent. ' 

Hezekiah found his knavery altogether useless. 
He scraped himself home at last, and built a bel- 
loAvs-organ at Bridgend, Avith a 74-gun crash to 
it. His reputation is therefore up — especially 
since he rejoined the church — in all churches that 
can afford him. Yet he Avill not always own 
that I Avas his salvation. Hepzibah prophesies 
nothing, except that Polly’s little son, ‘ ‘ David 
Llewellyn,” will do something wonderful to keep 
the ancient name up. 

It may be so. And I think that he Avill. But 
his father never did it. How many chances have 
I missed ! How many times might I have ad- 
vanced to stern respectability ! Yet some folk 
will like me better, and I like myself no less, for 
having pretended to bo no more than I am — a 
poor frail felloAV. 

The children still come doAvn to the Avell, Avith 
three of our Bunny’s foremost; they get betAveen 
my knees, and open blue or brown eyes up at 
me ; in spite of Roger Berkrolles nodding to in- 


/ 


THE MAID OF SKER. 


182 

still more manners, some of the prettiest stroke 
my white hair, coaxing for a story. Then they 
, push forward little Davy, thinking that I spoil 
him so, because of his decided genius giving such 
' promise of bard-hood — already it would do you 
/';ood to hear him on the jew’s-harp. Nevertheless 
i answer firmly, nine times out of ten at least, 


“Little dears,” is all I say, “Captain Davy 
is getting old. It is hard to tell a tale, but easy 
to find fault with it. You tell me that my left 
aim will grow quite as long as my right one, if 
I only will shake it about and keep a hollow 
sleeve on. My pets, when I get another.arm, I 
will tell you another story.” 


I 


THE END. 




HARPER & BROTHERS’ 

AUTUMN BOOK- LIST. 


Harper & Brothers will send any of the following books by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the 

United States, on receipt of the price. 

Harper’s Catalogue, 7vith Classified Index of Contents, sent by mail on receipt of Six Cents in 
postage stamps, or it may be obtained gratuitously on application to the Publishers personally. 


NORDHOFF’S CALIFORNIA. California: 
For Health, Pleasure, and Residence. A 

Book for Travelers and Settlers. Illustrated. 
8vo, Paper, $2 00 ; Cloth, $2 50. 

Since the completion of the Pacific Railroads, Cali- 
fornia has yearly attracted an increasing number of 
visitors and permanent residents, not only from the 
Eastern States, but from all parts of Europe. Many 
persons have, however, been deterred from attempt- 
ing the wonderful journey across the continent by 
lack of information as to the time needed, the best 
and most pleasant way to go, and the cost of the trip. 

The publishers believe that Mr. Nordhoff’s work, 
which combines the utility of a guide-book with the 
fascination of a story of travel and sight-seeing in a 
comparatively unknown country, will fully supply this 
want. A careful and intelligent observer, he has pro- 
duced a work of extraordinary interest and value, in 
which California, and: especially the southern and 
least-known part of it, is described in a fluent, nerv- 
ous, and picturesque style. The book is practical 
without being dry. The author tells not only where, 
but how to go ; not only what to see, but how best to 
see it. While his spirited descriptions of the notable 
sights and the social and industrial features of Cali- 
fornia will interest the general reader, the traveler 
across the continent who wishes to observe thorough- 
ly and intelligently, and to reap the full enjoyment 
and profit of the journey, will find the book an in- 
structive and amusing guide, and in every respect 
admirably adapted to convey a practical knowledge 
of the wonderful regions beyond the Rocky Mountains. 

To invalids and to the multitude of persons look- 
ing for homes in a mild and salubrious climate, where 
they may escape the rigors of northern winters, Mr. 
Nordhoff’s book gives a mass of information, careful- 
ly collected by personal observation. His accounts 
of the wonderful farming of California, of wheat, cat- 
tle, and sheep culture, and of the vineyards, and the 
rapidly increasing and remarkably successful and 
profitable culture of such fruits as the orange, the 
almond, and the olive, are full of practical details 
gathered by the author in the course of a thorough 
examination of t’nese and other industries of the State, 
and will, from their novelty, attract the attention of 
farmers and the intelligent every where. 

The book is well furnished with maps, and very 
fully illustrated. 


MIDDLEMARCH. A Novel. By George 
Eliot, Author of “Adam Bede,” “Mill on 
the Floss,” &c. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $1 75 

per vol. (Fo/. 1. now Ready.) 

In “Middlemarch, a Story of Provincial Life,” we 
have a most vivid and delightful illustration of the 
qualities which have given George Eliot the position 
of the first of living novelists. The personages of the 
story are at once typical and individual. They are 
representative of English provincial life, and are at 
the same time as racy as though they had been select- 
ed at hap-hazard from the population, on account of 
their peculiarities and oddities. Without any appa- 
rent effort on the part of the author, they are made to 
live in our imaginations as real beings, independent 
of each other, and yet aiding to develop each other.— 
Boston Globe. 


GLADSTONE’S LIFE OF FARADAY. 
Michael Faraday. By J. H. Gladstone, 
Ph.D., F.R.S. IGmo, Cloth, 90 cents. 

The loving testimonial of the disciple to his master, 
and gives, perhaps, some nearer glimpses of the man 
in the unreserve of domestic intercourse than have yet 
been afforded us. Dr, Gladstone is an enthusiastic but 
never undiscerning admirer of the eminent philoso- 
pher, and his warmest recognitions of greatness in his 
subject are marked by perfect self-respect, and by a 
severe regard for exact truth, which was Faraday’s 
own distinguishing characteristic. Dr. Gladstone has 
performed nis labor of love with equal taste and dis- 
crimination . — Evening Post, N. Y. 

There will scarcely, it would seem, be any likelihood 
of failure or stint, within the limits of the present gen- 
eration at least, in the affectionate interest which 
lingers round the scientific services and the personal 
worth of Faraday. Throughout the continent of Eu- 
rope, and wherever in East or West science has made 
itself a centre and a home, witness has been borne to 
the gains which his rare genius has brought to the 
general knowledge of nature, and to the blank which 
his loss has made painfully felt among the cultivators 
of physical truth . — Saturday Review, Loudon. 

Although Prof. Faraday’s distinguished career has 
received many appropriate tributes at the hands of De 
la Rive, Tyndall, Dr. Bence Jones, and other admirers 
of his genius and character, the present biography is 
by no means a superfluous work, and will be gratefully 
welcomed as a lucid record of one of the ablest and 
most interesting self-taught men of the nineteenth cen- 
tury. It is founded mainly on the personal reminis- 
cences of the writer, but is enriched with materials 
that had been previously collected, and with informa- 
tion derived from documents hitherto unpublished. 
Mr. Gladstone is master of an easy and graceful nar- 
rative style. He modestly keeps himself in the back- 
ground, and places the subject of his sketch in a con- 
spicuous and favorable light. His memoir is written 
with warm personal feeling, no less than with a just 
appreciation of the position of Faraday as a man of 
science. It is intended for popular reading, and aims 
to do justice to the admirable personal qualities of 
the subject, which are quite as remarkable as his phil- 
osophical discoveries.— A. Y. Tribwie. 


THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE, as 
told to my Child. By the Author of “John 
Halifax, Gentleman.” Illustrated. IGmo, 
Cloth, 90 cents. 

* * * Mrs. Craik’s delightful “Adventures of a 
Brownie.” * * * Old folks may enjoy her book as much 
as young ones, and no one can be sorry that she turns 
aside sometimes from novel-writing to the writing of 
tales for children. — Examiner, London. 


THIRTY YEARS IN THE HAREM; or. 
The Autobiography of Melek-Hanum, Wife 
of H. H. Kibrizli-Mehemet-Pasha. 12mo, 
Cloth, $1 50. 

GAIL HAMILTON’S LITTLE FOLK LIFE. 
Little Folk Life. A Book for Girls. By 
Gail Hamilton, Author of “Woman’s Worth 
and Worthlessness.” IGmo, Cloth, 90 cents. 


2 


Harper Brothers' List of Neiu Books, 


THE SCHOOL AND THE AKMY IN 
GERMANY AND FRANCE, with a Diary 
of Siege Life at Versailles. By Brevet Ma- 
jor-General W. B. Hazen, U. S. a., Colonel 
Sixth Infantry. Crown 8vo, Cloth, $2 50. 

We heartily recommend this interesting book to 
our readers. There is much in our own military sit- 
uation and experience analogous to what has been 
seen in France, to whose system our own bears too 
close a resemblance. General Hazen, with great fair- 
nees and clearness, brings the defective points to light, 
and shows how they may be remedied. His book is 
not, however, only didactic. It contains, as we have 
already said, many graphic sketches of camp scenes 
and incidents, and anecdotes of the great statesmen 
and soldiers with whom he came in contact; while 
his account of the systems of military and civil edu- 
cation in France and Germany is by far the clearest 
and most interesting we have ever seen.— lY. y. Even- 
ing Post, 

Among the swarm of ephemeral productions called 
forth by the late Franco-Prussian War, the present vol- 
ume is distinguished by contrast rather than by re- 
semblance, affording a rich store of exact and novel 
information imparted in a singularly vigorous and at- 
tractive style. General Hazen enjoyed peculiar advant- 
ages for the preparation of his work, having nad the 
freedom of the German lines, and familiar access to the 
society of the leading German commanders, by which 
he was enabled to profit in the highest degree from 
his own military education and experience. • * * In 
addition to the exhaustive and lucid details of the or- 
ganization of the Prussian army, and the informing 
notices of that of France, and a comparative estimate 
of each system with that of the United States, the vol- 
ume contains one of the most complete accounts now 
in print of the French and German military and civil 
schools, in connection with the organization of the 
armies, affording a great amount of valuable and in- 
teresting information on the subject of education in 
each country. General Hazen has made remarkably 
thorough work in the execution of his book. He 
writes more like a soldier than a scholar, which is to 
his praise. He certainly evinces no lack of sound lit- 
erary culture, but he expresses himself with a prompt- 
itude and succinctness— going straight to the point 
without circumlocution — that is partly due, no doubt, 
to his military training. It is sometimes almost as 
difficult to master the construction of a paragraph as 
it is to silence a battery, and in this case the author 
shows himself no less efficient with the pen than he 
has heretofore proved to be with the sw’ord.— lY. Y. 
Tribune. 

A very important work, which is intended for ci- 
vilians as well as members of the military profession. 
Himself a soldier of capacity and experience, trained 
in our own military academy, and having served with 
distinction in the late war between the North and the 
South,General Hazen was admirably fitted for this task. 
He visited Europe for the purpose of inspecting the mil- 
itary systems of both countries then at war, and his po- 
sition and character gave him free access to every source 
of information. The result of his investigations is a 
book which deserves the w’idest dissemination among 
American readers, and the closest scrutiny by those 
who have the direction of military education in this 
country. It is by no means a history of the war be- 
tween France and Germany. He deals mainly with 
the causes and results, w’ith the grand moral lessons of 
the war and their application to our own country. — 
Cincinnati Commercial. 


OMBRA. A Novel. By Mrs. Oi.iphaxt, Au- 
thor of “Chronicles of Carlingford,” “Per- 
petual Curate,” “Laird of Norlaw,” “Miss 
Marjoribank.s,” &c. 8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 

The customary grace of the author’s style, the high 
tone of mind, the frank sympathies which have al- 
W’ays characterized her, are found in this book as in its 
predecessors; but here is something that they, not 
even the best among them, have not. — Spectator, Lon- 
don. 

A fascinating story, full of interest and abounding 
in admirable descriptions of female character. — Scots- 
man, London. 

This book will delight the reader, and, if possible, 
increase the gifted writer’s well-established reputa- 
tion. — Messenger, London. 

A delightful book. The interest is admirably sus- 
tained.— ifornin^ Post, Loudon. 


HARPER’S HOUSEHOLD DICKENS. El- 
egant and Cheap. With Characteristic Il- 
lustrations. 

OLIVER TWIST. With 28 Illustrations 
by J. Mahonev. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents ; 
Cloth, $1 00. ‘ 

MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. With 59 11- 
lustrations by J. Barnard. 8yo, Paper, 
00; Cloth, 50. 

THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. With 
54 Illustrations by Thomas Worth. 8vo, 
Paper, 75 cents; Cloth, $1 25. 

David Copperjield" nearly ready. 

We have no doubt that an edition of Dickens which 
has so much to commend it to 'public favor, in form, 
paper, type, press-work, illustrations, and price (for it 
is really a marvel of cheapness), will meet with a very 
extensive sale.— A”. Y. Evening Post. 


AROUND THE WORLD. By Edward D. 
G. Prime, D.D. With numerous Illustra- 
tions. Crown 8vo, Cloth, $3 00. 

It is a delightful book of travel. Its interest does 
not depend upon adventure or novelty of scene ; its 
charm lies rather in the freshness, the geniality, the 
shrewd insight, and quick, intelligent perceptions that 
are evident in every chapter. For those who are for- 
tunate enough to possess the money and inclination 
for foreign travel, and who desire to go beyond the 
ordinary limit of a summer tour, the book will be a 
valuable and entertaining guide ; while those whose 
travels are confined to books and pictures will find a 
rich source of pleasure and instruction in following 
the author and his friends in their wanderings around 
the tvorld, through the many lands and over the many 
seas which he describes.— jEuemn^r Post, N. Y. 


THE GOLDEN LION OF GRANPERE. 
A Novel. By Anthony Trollope, Author 
of “The Warden,” “Barchester Towers,” 
“ Orley Farm,” “Small House at Allington,” 
&c. Illustrated. 8vo, Papfer, 75 cents ; Cloth, 
$1 25. 

To our mind, Trollope has written no better novel 
than this. — N. Y. World. 

It is a very readable book, a good and simply con- 
structed story. It is a good specimen of Trollope’s 
work, with all the skillful minuteness and accurate 
drawing that have made him so many admirers. — 
iV. H. Palladium. 

An interesting story it is, with well-worked-ont plot 
which will closmy hold the reader’s attention.— A’ostcm 
Commercial Bulletin. 


HARPER’S GUIDE TO EUROPE. Har- 
per’s Hand-Book for Travelers in Europe 
and the East: being a Guide through Great 
Britain and Ireland, France, Belgium, Hol- 
land, Germany, Italy, Egypt, Syria, Turkey. 
Greece, Stvitzerland, Tyrol, Spain, Russia, 
Denmark, and Sweden. By W. Pembroke 
Fetridge, Author of “ Harper’s Phrase- 
Book,” “History of the Paris Commune,” 
&c. With more than Ninety Maps and Plans of 
Cities. Eleventh Year. Large 12mo, Leather, 
Tucks, $6 00. 

For a sturdy array of important facts and valuable 
suggestions, given in one compact volume, the present 
wcV’k stands without a rival. — X. I”". Times. 

It gives the best routes of travel, names the places 
of interest, tells how much money certain trips cost, 
and furnishes the traveler with all the necessary ad- 
vice and full information for a trip to any or all parts 
of the Old World. We do not see how a person cross- 
ing the Atlantic can afford to do without \x.—Ilome 
Journal. 


Harper &* Brothers* List of New Books. 


3 


THE DESERT OF THE EXODUS. Jour- 
neys on Foot in the Wilderness of the Forty 
Years’ Wanderings ; undertaken in connec- 
tion with the Ordnance Survey of Sinai and 
the Palestine Exploration Fund. By E. H. 
Palmek, M.A., Lord Almoner’s Professor of 
Arabic, and Fellow of St. John’s College, Cam- 
bridge. With Maps and numerous Illustra- 
tions from Photographs and Drawings taken 
on the spot by the Sinai Survey Expedition 
and C. F. Tyrwhitt Drake. Crown 8vo, 
Cloth, $3 00. 

Mr. E. II. Palmer has herein embodied the results 
of the survey of the Desert which excited a consid- 
erable interest among biblical students. The en- 
terprise was undertaken in the hope of clearing up 
many doubts of an historical or a geographical kind 
that rested over the land of the Exodus of Israel. 
The success which attended it was in the highest de- 
gree gratifying, and Mr. Palmer’s narrative of the 
journeyings of the Commission has both a present 
interest and a permanent value. He was exceedingly 
W'ell fitted to undertake the explorations, from famil- 
iarity with the country and the differing colloquial 
dialects of the wandering Arabs, and his intelligence 
and discrimination appear in every chapter of the 
book. * * * While the whole inquiry has been made 
in a spirit of the truest reverence and of implicit be- 
lief in the Mosaic history, Mr. Palmer does not en- 
cumber his account with disputation or with undue 
application of Bible texts, but goes right on with 
ease and freedom to the results at which the explorers I 
aimed. Among these the determination of the true 
site of the Mountain of the Law is perhaps the most 
remarkable. — A. V. Evening Post. 

All along in Mr. Palmer’s volume are these pleas- 
ant surprises in regard to actual life, which reverse 
many of our former notions about the laud and its 
people. In this particular it is the most instructive 
narrative of journeys in the desert region since the 
narrative of Burckhardt; and it has a finer humor 
than the narrative of Burckhardt. Mr. Palmer has a 
quick eye for absurdities, and enlivens his volume by 
entertaining anecdotes, while he makes no boast of 
his achievements, and does not embellish facts by a 
lively fancy. The little things which he notes are de- 
lightful. — Golden Age. 

This is a work of the greatest importance, as well 
as of the most exciting and romantic interest. Since 
the dawn of the Christian era nociiing like the amount 
of accurate information respecting the journeyings of 
the Children of Israel, and the wanderings in the 
great and terrible wilderness, has been furnished and 
enjoyed. Some of the most wonderful discoveries 
have been made by the exploring party, and the topog- 
raphy of the districts through which the people jour- 
neyed has been found to accord perfectly with the 
Bible account. Many places mentioned in the Exodus 
have been identified beyond a reasonable doubt, and 
corrections have been made which have removed a 
great deal of the perplexity always hitherto attending 
the study of Bible antiquities. The work has a very 
important bearing on the controversies of the present 
day. — Episcopalian, Philadelphia. 

A GOLDEN SORROW. A Novel. By Mrs. 
Cashel Hoey, Author of “A House of 
Cards,” &c. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 

Very pleasant and lively. — Spectator, London. 

A most agreeable book. Mrs. Hoey not only dis- 
plays good nature and good sense, but her diction is 
fresh, clear, and incisive. She weaves an interesting 
plot, and her characters are drawn with remarkable 
distinctness and consistency. — Examiner, London. 

A most admirable novel. — John Dull. 

A story of remarkable ability. We much mistake 
if it does not become one of the most popular novels 
of the season. — Gh'aphic, London. 

BARNES’S NOTES ON THE NEW TESTA- 
MENT. New Edition. Revised, with Maps 
and Illustrations. The following volumes are 
now ready: Gospels, 2 vols. ; Acts, 1 vol. ; 
Romans, 1 vol. ; First Corinthians, 1 vol. ; 
Second Corinthians and Galatians, 1 vol. 
12mo, Cloth, $1 50 per vol. • 


SONG LIFE. Illustrating the Journey of 
Christiana and her Children from Earth to the 
Celestial City. For the Sunday-School and 
Family Circle. By Philip Phillips, Author 
of “Singing Pilgrim,” “Hallowed Songs,” &c. 
4to, 50 cents. 


CURTIUS’S STUDENT’S GREEK GRAM- 
MAR. A Grammar of the Greek Language. 
By Dr. George Curtius, Professor in the 
University of Leipzig. Translated under the 
Revision of the Author. Edited by William 
Smith, LL.D., Classical Examiner in the 
University of London, and Editor of the Clas- 
sical and Latin Dictionaries. For the Use of 
Colleges and' High-Schools. 12mo, Cloth, 
^2 00 . 

Dr. Curtius, it is w'ell known, has applied to the 
presentation of Greek grammar the philosophical in- 
quiries of Humboldt and his successors, as well as the 
historical researches of Grimm, Bopp, and their com- 
peers in the science of language. The result is, of 
course, that his work has a modern appearance not 
found in any other Greek grammar that we are ac- 
quainted with. Throughout the book Dr. Curtius 
never fails to present the Latin analogue to the Greek 
word when there is one, and thus tends to present the 
connection of the two great classical branches of the 
I primitive Aryan stock. The Greek dialects are also 
i carefully distinguished. The knotty points in the 
Greek tenses and moods are fully explained. The 
syntax is very full, every important as well as every 
obscure point in it being subjected to analysis and 
elucidation. The typography is very accurate— won- 
derfully so for a work of this kind. — N. Y. World. 


HOPE DEFERRED. A Novel. By Eliza 
F. Pollard. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 

We must not tell the story of the long-deferred hope, 
and how it was ultimately realized, through what 
trial and training — with one terrific incident, brought 
about with a skill which, if it had no other merit, 
would mark out this book from the rank and file of 
the crowded array of novels ; we can only direct at- 
tention to it as a true and beautiful delineation of a 
woman’s heart at war with circumstances and with 
fate. — Spectator, Loudon. 

The patient attitude of a loving woman who waited 
long years for an affection which awakes too late, and 
is doomed to find that when hope seems no longer 
possible the passion which she has stifled so bravely 
in her own breast is at length reciprocated, is a subject 
which iu any hands must be difficult to treat without 
profanation. That Miss Pollard, in her chai’acter of 
Jeanne, should have succeeded so well— placing be- 
fore us a type of ardent affection without grossness, 
trusting simplicity without weakness or insipidity of 
charactei’ — shows that she possesses appreciative in- 
sight and womanly delicacy of touch. We have read 
few stories lately, certainly none professing to treat 
of female character, which have left upon us so pleas- 
ing an impression.— A Loudon. 


THE UNITED STATES TARIFF AND 
INTERNAL REVENUE LAW (approved 
June 6, 1872), together with the Acts of which 
it is amendatory, and a full Alphabetical Ta- 
ble of the United States Tariff ; also a Table 
of Internal Taxes, a copious Analytical Index, 
and full Sectional Notes. Compiled by Hor- 
ace E. Dresser. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents* Cloth, 
$1 00 . 

THE MAID OF SKER. A Novel. By R. 
D. Blackmore, Author of “Cradock Now- 
ell,” &c. 8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 

I Full of spirit and originality and observation, both 
of nature and mQXx.— Spectator, London. 


4 


Harper 6 ^ Brothers' List of New Books. 


ANNUAL RECORD OF SCIENCE AND 
INDUSTRY FOR 1871. Edited by Prof. 
Spenceu F. Baird, of the Smithsonian In- 
stitution, witli the Assistance of Eminent Men 
of Science. 12mo, Cloth, $2 00. 

The “Record” is a digested abstract of such of the 
more important discoveries of the past year as are of 
general interest, or likely to prove of lasting import- 
ance to science, pure or applied. Aside from its com- 
prehensiveness — a quality that a glance at the table 
of contents shows that the work possesses — the most 
satisfactory feature of the present volume is its thor- 
ough reliability. It is prepared, we hardly need say, 
by one of the leading men of science in this country, 
who possesses in a high degree the peculiar tact, as 
well as the knowledge required for excellent work of 
this kind, and who enjoys unusual facilities for its 
successful accomplishment. We have here the cream 
of the regular publications of all the leading scientific 
bodies in this country and Europe, and of some sixty 
scientific or semi-scientific periodicals besides. The 
compilation might seem easy for one who is thus thor- 
oughly conversant with current literature, but a mo- 
ment’s reflection makes it evident that jnst here lies 
the source of much embarrassment, the difficulty being 
what to rule out. Opinions will differ according to 
individual bent of mind, but it will doubtless be gen- 
erally conceded that the author has weighed fact against 
fact, appreciated their relative value, and made his se- 
lections with praiseworthy care and skill. Upward of 
two thousand items are given, accompanied in most 
cases by reference to the publications in which the 
articles of which they are abstracts appeared. A co- 
pious, well-arranged table of contents, with a complete 
index, makes the information given upon any partic- 
ular subject readily accessible; while the tabulated 
list of periodicals consulted points the way to further 
research. The necrology of the year embraces forty- 
four more or less distinguished names.— A’affun, N. Y. 


LORD KILGOBBIN. A Novel. By Charles 

Lever, Author of “Charles O’Malley,” &c. 

Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, $1 00 ; Cloth, $1 50. 

No one but the author of “ Charles O’Malley” could 
have written “Lord Kilgobbin.” Indeed, there are 
passages in the latter which, for vigor and rollicking 
Irish fun, are scarcely inferior to some of the celebrated 
passages in the earlier work.— iV. Y. World. 

“ Lord Kilgobbin ” is scarcely inferior to “ Charles 
O’Malley” in its rollicking humor.— Aiftajiy Argus. 


ROLFE’S EDITIONS of SHAKESPEARE’S 
PLAYS. The Plays of Shakespeare, edited, 
with Notes, hy W. J. Rolfe, A.M., formerly 
Head Master of the High-School, Cambridge, 
Mass. Illustrated. lOmo, Cloth, Flexible, 
90 cents per vol. 

MERCHANT OF VENICE. 

THE TEMPEST. 

HENRY THE EIGHTH. 

JULIUS C^SAR. 

The above four Plays, bound in One Vol- 
ume, richly ornamented, price $3 00. 

Rolfe’s “Julius Caesar,” like his bijou editions of 
‘‘The Tempest,” “Merchant of Venice,” and “Henry 
•he Eighth,” is a model of good editing, judicious il- 
lustration, and tasteful book-making. Shakespeare 
seems freshly attractive in these exquisite little vol- 
umes, which fortunately can not be monopolized by 
the school-room, but can be put in any well-iilanned 
pocket for an afternoon ramble, or held easily for read- 
ing aloud at evening: in short, are in order and good 
taste every where and at all times . — Boston Traveller. 


GRIF : a Story of Australian Life. By B. L. 
Farjeon. 8vo, Paper, 40 cents. 

BLADE-O’-GRASS. A Novel. By B.L. Far- 
jeon. Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, 35 cents. 

JOSHUA MARVEL. A Novel. By B.L. Far- 
jeon. 8vo, Paper, 40 cents. 


TYERMAN’S WESLEY. The Life and Times 
of the Rev. John Wesley, M.A., Founder of 
the Methodists. By the Rev. Luke Tyer- 
MAN, Author of “The Life of Rev. Samuel 
Wesley.” Portraits. Complete in 3 vols., 
in box. Crown 8vo, Cloth, $2 50 per vol. 

My conviction is that it is by far the most exhaustive 
and trustworthy life of Wesley extant. The plan of 
the work, by the division into years, is convenient and 
happy ; and, although no pretensions are made to a 
finished literary style, and the writing is rather care- 
less than complete, it is both racy arid readable. In 
Mr. Tyerman’s desire for scrupulous impartiality he 
has sometimes, by a not uncommon mental process, 
landed on the other side of it. There are some details 
whichTnight have been well omitted ; there are some 
expressions of opinion which I deem to be hasty and 
mistaken ; and it is, at best, a dubious wisdom to have 
rescued so many foul pamphlets of the former time 
from the chandler’s basket. But, with these small 
drawbacks, the work is a monument of industry and 
painstaking, and a faithful portrait of a man in whom 
the strongest light has failed to discover any but small 
impurities — like thin clouds which just relieve the eye 
of the beholder, and through which, hardly dimmed 
by their shadows, we see the sun in his strength.- 
Rev. W. Mobley Punsuon. 


MISS MULOCK’S WORKS. Library Edition 
of Works by the Author of “John Halifax, 
Gentleman.” 12mo, Cloth, $1 50 per vol. 
The complete set, 17 vols., in neat case, price 
$25 00. 

Hannah. — Olive. — Ogilvies. — The Head 
of the Tamil}". — John Halifax. — Agatha’s 
Husband. — A Life for a Life. — Two Mar- 
riages. — Christian’s Mistake. — A Noble 
Life. — A Hero. — Studies from Life. — The 
Fairy Book. — Unkind Word. — Mistress and 
Maid. — The Woman’s Kingdom. — A Brave 
Lady. 

MUNSON’S PHONOGRAPHY. The Com- 
plete Phonographer : being an Inductive Ex- 
position of Phonography, with its Application 
to all branches of Reporting, and affording tlie 
Fullest Instruction to those who have not the 
Assistance of an Oral Teacher ; also intended 
as a School-Book. By James E. Munson, 
Official Stenographer to the Surrogate’s Court 
of New York. 12mo, Cloth, $2 00. 


A BRIDGE OF GLASS. A Novel. By F. 
W. Robinson, Author of “True to Herself,” 
“For Her Sake,” “Carry’s Confession,” &c. 
8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 

!Mr. Robinson’s story possesses the first qualification 
of a good novel — a well-sustained and interesting plot. 
—Athenceum, London. 


PAINE ON THE SOUL AND INSTINCT. 
Physiology of the Soul and Instinct, as distin- 
guished from Materialism. With Supplement- 
ary Demonstrations of the Divine Communi- 
cation of the Narratives of Creation and the 
Flood. By Martyn Paine, A.M., M.D., 
LL.D., Author of “The Institutes of Medi- 
cine,” &c. New Edition. 8vo, Cloth, $5 00. 


THE LOVELS OF ARDEN. A Novel. By 
M. E. Br ADDON, Author of “ Fenton’s Quest, ” 
“Aurora Floyd,” &c. Illustrated. ' 8vo, Pa- 
per, 75 cents. 

Miss Braddon’s best novel. — Athenceum, London. 


Harper 6 ^ Brothers' List of New Books. 


5 


A GOOD INVESTMENT. A Story of the 
Upper Ohio. By Wm. Flagg, Author of 
“Three Seasons in European Vineyards,” 
&c. With Illustrations. 8vo, Taper, 50 cts. 

One of the best American stories we have met with 
for a long time. It contains pictures of creek-life in 
the hill ca)uutry of the Ohio, and the social and polit- 
ical condition of the border during the Eebellion, and 
glimpses very true to nature of the Southern charac- 
ter, black and white. The love-story is fresh and nat- 
ural ; the general style is graceful and forcible, trans- 
parent in description, and well-turned in humorous 
passages. — Christian Union. 


LORD BROUGHAM’S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 
Life and Times of Henry, Lord Brougham. 
Written by Himself. Complete in 3 vols., 
12mo, Cloth, $2 00 per vol. 


ALBERT LUNEL. A Novel. By the late Lord 
Brougham. 8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 

It is witty, sarcastic, and epigrammatic in style, and 
is full of wisdom garnered during a long life of mental 
activity and remarkable experiences. — Boston Satur- 
day Evening Gazette. 

There are frequent instances of the writer’s charac- 
teristic vigor of style, and many descriptive passages 
of picturesque beauty. — N. Y. Tribune. 


M‘CLINTOCK AND STRONG’S CYCLO- 
PAEDIA. Cyclopgedia of Biblical, Theolog- 
ical, and Ecclesiastical Literature. By the 
late Rev. John M‘Clintock, D.D., and 
James Strong, S.T.D. With Maps and 
numerous Illustrations. To be completed, in 
about Seven Volumes, Royal 8vo, of about 
One Thousand Pages each. The first Four 
Volumes, comprising the letters A to J, are 
now ready. The remaining Volumes are in 
progress, and will appear at short intervals. 
Price per Volume, Cloth, $5 00 ; Sheep, 
$6 00 ; Half Morocco, $8 00. (^Sold by Sub- 
scription.') ■ 

POOR MISS FINCH. A Novel. By Wil- 
kie Collins, Author of “The Woman in 
White,” “Moonstone,” “Man and Wife,” 
“Armadale,” &c. Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, 
$l 00; Cloth, $1 50. 

A story to be absorbed in and forever after to re- 
member. — Boston Commonwealth. 


BALDWIN’S ANCIENT AMERICA. An- 
cient America, in Notes on American Arche- 
ology. By John D. Baldwin, A.M., Author 
of “ Pre-Historic Nations,” &c. With Illus- 
trations. 12mo, Cloth, $2 00. 

“Ancient America" is essentially a manual embody- 
ing within a moderate compass the substance of what 
is fairly known respecting the civilized races which 
occupied a large part of the American continent long 
before its discovery by Columbus. The author, how- 
ever, does not limit himself to a mere description of 
the remains which the people — or perhaps peoples— 
left behind them. He endeavors from these and other 
sources to give an idea of the history and civilization 
of the constructors of these remains. * * * However far 
the reader may agree with or dissent from the opin- 
ions and theories of this work, no one will fail to rec- 
ognize its calm and philosophic spirit. It is a valua- 
ble addition to our information upon a most interest- 
ing department of human knowledge. — A. Y. Evening 
Post. 


MAUD MOHAN. A Novel. By Annie 
Thomas, Author of “Denis Donne,” “On 
Guard,” “Playing for High Stakes,” &c. 
8vo, Paper, 25 cents. 


TALMAGE’S SERMONS. Sermons by the 
Rev. T. De Witt Talmage, delivered in the 
Brooklyn Tabernacle. 1 2mo, Cloth, $2 00. 

The thirty-three discourses compiled in this volume 
give a characteristic representation of the original, 
gloAving, and intense pulpit utterances of the popular 
preacher of the Brooklyn Free Tabernacle. His faults 
and his excellences, his best things and his worst, his 
enthusiasm and his power, all come out in these hon- 
est pages. They reflect the spirit of the man, but nec- 
essarily without his singular power of dramatic deliv- 
ery, which is just as natural to him as his gift of end- 
less illustrations. Best of all, the Gospel is here, not 
in prosy didactics, but in fresh, pointed style— some- 
times homely, often beautiful. There is practical 
thought at a white heat, and earnestness alive on ev- 
ery page. Mr. Talmage says many things, and in a 
way that no one but he could or would say them. 
Cold criticism will find abundance of materials for 
sharp and just review, but candor will say that the 
man is just as God made him, and that he does good, 
hard work, with a will and a success which defy the 
critics, and which illustrate the divine declaration ; 
“Now there are diversities of gifts, but it is the same 
spirit “ dividing to every man severally as He will." 
Christian Intelligencer, N. Y. 

These sermons I regard as among the best speci- 
mens of the simple, earnest, pungent presentation of 
the solemn and precious truths of the Gospel that I 
have ever read, and having a fertility of illustration 
that is marvelous. I feel earnestly desirous that they 
should be in a form to preach to ministers of the Gos- 
pel, and so help them to preach to others.— Rev. E. D. 
G. Prime, D.D., of the N. Y. Observer. 

Mr. Talmage’s discourses lay hold of my inmost 
soul. — Mr. Spurgeon, of London. 

Mr. Talmage does wide and great good by the force 
with which he preaches common-sense to the multi- 
tudes who throng his huge Tabernacle. The qualities 
which give his sermons hold upon the people have 
the same influence in his 'books.— Evening Mail, N. Y. 

Mr. Talmage is a pulpit phenomenon. His con- 
ceptions of men and things are so vivid that he can 
not be said to possess them: they possess him. He 
is dramatic, and can not describe without acting. He 
has a clear, incisive mind, a broad and genial humor, 
a high and exacting conscientiousness, kindly sympa- 
thy, a vivid imagination, and vehement passion. He 
is in dead earnest, and every blow tells.— A, Y. Inde- 
pendent. 

Mr. Talmage has great powers of description, and 
his pictures are graphic and startling. — Presbyterian, 
Philadelphia. 

Mr. Talmage is a wonderful man— intensely earn- 
est, brilliant as a meteor, practical beyond most 
preachers, sometimes extravagant, always pleading 
for Christ and grasping for souls. — Old School Pres- 
byterian, St. Louis. 

CECIL’S TRYST. A Novel. By Jas. Patn, 
Author of “Carlyon’s Year,” “Gwendoline’s 
Harvest,” “Won — Not Wooed,” “Bred in 
the Bone,” “One of the Family,” &c. 8vo, 
Paper, 50 cents. 

MUSIC AND MORALS. By Rev. H. R. 
Haweis, M.A. With Illustrations and Dia- 
grams. 12mo, Cloth, $1 75. 


FAIR TO SEE. A Novel. By L. W. M. 
Lockhart. 8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 


BOOKS FOR GIRLS. Written or Edited by 
the Author of “John Halifax, Gentleman.” 
Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, 90 cents per vol. 

Little Sunshine’s Holiday. | Tvrenty Years Ago. 

The Cousin from India. ) Is it True ? 


EARL’S DENE. A Novel. By R. E. Fran- 
ciLLON. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 


PATTY. A Novel. By Katharine S. Mac- 
QuoiD, Author of “ Rookstone.” 8vo, Paper, 
60 cents. 


CHARLES LEVER'S NOVELS. 


We hardly know how to convey an adequate notion of the exuberant whim and 
drollery by which this writer is characterized. His works are a perpetual feast of 
gayety . — foHN Bull, 

“ This well-known humorous and sparkling writer y whose numerous laughter-pro- 
voking novels have so often convulsed the reader by their drollery and rollicking wity 
seems to possess an endless fmd of entertainmeTVtl' 


Lord Kilgobbin. Illustrated. 

%vOy Papery $i oo. 

Tl^e Bramleighs of Bishop's Fol- 
ly, ZvOy Papery 50 cents. 

Sir Brook Fossbrooke, ZvOy Pa- 

pery 50 cents. 

Tony Butler. SuOy Papery $i 00; 

Clothy 50. 

Luttrell of Arran. %vOy Papery 

$i 00 ; Clothy $i 50. 

One of Them. ZvOy Papery 75 

cents. 

A Day's Ride. A Life's Ro- 

mance. SvOy Papery 50 cents. 

Gerald Fitzgeraldy “ The Cheva- 

lier ZvOy Papery 50 cents. 

The Martins of Crd Martin. 

ZvOy Papery $i 25. 


That Boy of Norcott's. Illus- 

trated. ZvOy Papery 25 cents. 

Maurice Tiernayy the Soldier of 

Fortune. ZvOy Papery $i 00. 

The Dodd Family Abroad. Svo, 

Papery 25. 

Barrington. ZvOy Papery 75 cents. 

Sir Jasper CareWy Knt.: His 
Life and Adventures. With some 
Account of his Overreachings and 
ShortcomingSy now first given to the 
World by Himself. ZvOy Papery 75 
cents. 

Glencore and his Fortunes. SvOy 

Papery 50 cents. 

The Daltons ; ory The Three 

Roads in Life. ZvOy Papery $i $0. 

Roland Cashel. With Illustra- 
tions by Phiz, ZvOy Papery $12$; 
Clothy 75. 


Published by HARPER 6- BROTHERSy New York. 


Harper & Brothers will send any of the above works by maily postage prepaid, to any part of 
the United States, on receipt of the price. 


By WILKIE COLLINS. 


Pool' Miss Finch. 

A Novel. With Illustrations. 8vo, Paper, $i oo ; Cloth, $i 50. 

Man and Wife. 

A Novel. With Illustrations. 8vo, Paper, $1 00; Cloth, $1 50. 


The Moonstone. 

A Novel. With Illustrations. 8vo, Paper, $1 50; Cloth, $2 00. 

Armadale. 

A Novel. With Illustrations. 8vo, Paper, $i 60 ; Cloth, $2 00. 

No Name. 


A Novel. Illustrated by John McLenan. 8vo, Paper, 50; Cloth, $2 00. 

The Woman in White. 

A Novel. Illustrated by John McLenan. 8vo, Paper, $1 50; Cloth, $2 00. 

The Queen (f Hearts. 

A Novel. 1 2 mo. Cloth, $i 50. 


Antonina; or. The Fall of Rome. 

A Romance of the Fifth Century. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 


No amount of mechanical ingenuity would, however, account by itself for the 
popularity of Mr. Wilkie Collins’s works. He has several other important quali- 
fications. He writes an admirable style ; he is thoroughly in earnest in his desire 
to please ; his humor, though distinctly fashioned on a model Mr. Dickens invented 
and popularized, is better sustained and less fantastic and affected than any thing 
which Mr. Dickens has of late years produced. — Londo7i Review. 

We can not close this notice without a word of eulogy on Mr. Collins’s style. 
It is simple and so manly ; every word tells its own story ; every phrase is perfect 
in itself . — London Reader, 

Of all the living writers of English fiction no one better understands the art of 
story-telling than Wilkie Collins. He has a faculty of coloring the mystery of a 
plot, exciting terror, pity, curiosity, and other passions, such as belong to few if any 
of his confreres, however much they may excel him in other respects. His style 
too, is singularly appropriate — less forced and artificial than the average modern 
novelists . — Boston Transcript. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on receipt of the price. 


HILDRETH^ 8 UNITED STATES. 


THE HISTORY 

OF THE 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 

By EICHAED HILDEETH. 

First Series . — From the First Settlement of the Country to the Adoption of the 
Federal Constitution. Second Series . — From the Adoption of the Fed- 
eral Constitution to the End of the Sixteenth Congress. 

Six Vols., 8vo, Cloth, $18 00; Sheep, $21 00; Half Calf, $31 50. 


By all competent critics in France, England, and 
America, this careful and laborious work is now re- 
garded as the only trustworthy and serious attempt 
yet made to tell the story of the rise and progress of 
the great Republic with historic dignity and honesty. 
—A. V. JForld. 

The first attempt at a complete history of the United 
States. The reader who desires to inform himself in 
all the particulars, military or political, of the American 
Revolution, will find that they have been scrnpnlously 
collected for him by Mr. Hildreth. — London A thenoeum. 

It has condensed into consecutive narrative the 
substance of hundreds of volumes. — London Literary 
Gazette. 

The history of the Revolution is clearly and succinct- 
ly told. — North American Review. 

Mr. Hildreth’s sources of information have evidently 
been ample and various, and intelligently examined, 
his materials arranged with a just idea of their im- 
portance in the story, while his judgments are Avell 
considered, unbiased, and reliable. His style is clear, 
forcible, and sententions.— Christian Register. 

\Ve value it on account of its impartiality. We have 
found nothing to indicate the least desire on the part 
of the author to exalt or debase any man or any party. 
His very patriotism, though high-principled and sin- 
cere, is sober and discriminate, and appears to be held 
in strong check by the controlling recollection that he 
is writing for posterity, and that if the facts which he 
publishes will not honor his country and his country- 
men, fulsome adulation will not add to their glory.— 
N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

Mr. Hildreth is a very concise, vigorous, and impar- 
tial writer. His entire history is very accurate and 
interesting, and well worthy a place in every Ameri- 
can libraiy. — Loidsville Journal. 

We are confident that when the merits of this history 
come to be known and appreciated it will be extens- 
ively regarded as decidedly superior to any thing that 
before existed on American history, and as a valuable 
contribution to American authorship. These stately 
volumes will be an ornament to any library, and no 
intelligent American can afford to be without the work. 
We have nobly patronized the great English history of 
the age ; let us not fail to appreciate and patronize an 
American history so respectable and valuable as this 
certainly is. — Bibliotheca Sacra. 

A work which should be in every American’s hands. 
-^Springfield Republican. 


It occupies a space which has not yet been filled, 
and exhibits characteristics both of design and of 
composition which entitle it to a distinguished place 
among the most important productions of American 
genius and scholarship. We welcome it as a simple, 
faithful, lucid, and elegant narrative of the great events 
of American history. It is not written in illustration 
of any favorite theory, it is not the expression of any 
ideal system, but an honest endeavor to present the 
facts in question in the pnre, uncolored light of truth 
and reality. The impartiality, good judgment, pene- 
tration, and diligent research of the author are con- 
spicuous in its composition.— lY. Y. Tribune. 

His work fills a want, and is therefore most welcome. 
Its positive merits, in addition to those we have before 
mentioned, are impartiality, steadiness of view, clear 
appreciation of character, and, in point of style, a 
terseness and conciseness not nulike Tacitus, with not 
a little, too, of Tacitean vigor of thought, stern sense 
of justice, sharp irony, and profound wisdom.— J/et/i- 
odist Quarterly Review. 

The prevailing characteristic of Hildreth’s history is 
its stern and indexible impartiality. — Boston Journal. 

The author’s grouping of men and events is skillful, 
and renders his rapid narrative pleasant reading.— 
N. Y. Evening Post. 

The volumes will be regarded as indispensable. The 
author’s style is dignified, perspicnous, and vivacious. 
— Church Review. 

These handsome volumes should be on the table of 
every American who desires the most thorough and 
clear report of our nation’s history yet published. — 
Rochester Democrat. 

His style is vigorously simple. It has the virtue of 
perspicuity. — Zion's Herald. 

This work professes only to deal in /acts; it is a 
book of records; it puts together clearly, consecutively, 
and, we believe, with strict impartiality, the events of 
American histoiy. The work indicates patient, hon- 
est, and careful research, systematic arrangement, and 
lucid exposition.— Home Journal. 

Interesting, valuable, and very attractive. It is 
written in a style eminently clear and attractive, and 
presents the remarkable history which it records in a 
form of great simplicity and with graphic force. There 
is in it no attempt to palliate what is wrong, or to con- 
ceal what is true. It is a lifelike and reliable history 
of the most remarkable series of events in the annate 
of the world. — N. Y. Journal of Commerce. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on receipt of the price. 


GEORGE ELIOT’S NOVELS 

The Only Complete American Edition, 


MIDDLEMARCH. Two Volumes, 12 mo, Cloth. Vol. I. now ready. 

Cheap Edition, 8vo, Paper. {In Press^ 

ADAM BEDE. Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, $1 00. 

FELIX HOLT, THE RADICAL. Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, $1 00. 

Cheap Edition, 8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 

THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, $i 00. 

Cheap Edition, 8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 

ROMOLA. Illustrated. 121110, Cloth, $i 00. 

Cheap Edition, 8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 

SCENES OF CLERICAL LIFE, and SILAS MARNER, THE WEAVER 
OF RAVELOE. Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, $i 00. 


London Review. 

It was once said of a very charming and high- 
minded woman that to know her was in itself a 
liberal education ; and we are inclined to set an 
almost equally high value on an acquaintance 
with the writings of “George Eliot.” For those 
who read them aright they possess the faculty 
of educating in its highest sense, of invigorating 
the intellect, giving a healthy tone to the taste, 
appealing to the nobler feelings of the heart, 
training its impulses aright, and awakening or 
developing in every mind the consciousness of 
a craving for something higher than the pleas- 
ures and rewards of that life which only the 
senses realize, the belief in a destiny of a nobler 
nature than can be grasped by experience or 
demonstrated by argument. In reading them, 
we seem to be raised above the low grounds 
where the atmosphere is heavy and tainted, and 
the sunlight has to struggle through blinding 
veils of mist, and to be set upon the higher 
ranges where the air is fresh and bracing, where 
the sky is bright and clear, and where earth seems 
of less account than before and heaven more 
near at home. And as, by those who really feel 
the grandeur of mountain solitudes, a voice is 
heard speaking to the heart, which hushes the 
whispers in which vanity, and meanness, and 
self-interest are wont to make their petty sug- 
gestions, and as for them the paltry purposes of 
a brief and fitful life lose their significance in the 
presence of the mighty types of steadfastness and 
eternity by which they are surrounded, so, on 
those readers who are able to appreciate a lofty 
independence of thought, a rare nobility of feel- 
ing, and an exquisite sympathy with the joys and 
sor ows hunr.c.n na.are, “George Elio<‘’s” 
writings can not fail to exert an invigorating and 
purifying influence, the good effects of which 
leave behind it a lasting impression. 

Boston Transcript. 

Few women — no living woman indeed — have 
so much strength as “ George Eliot,” and, more 


than that, she never allows it to degenerate into 
coarseness. With all her so-called “masculine” 
vigor, she has a feminine tenderness, which is 
nowhere shown more plainly than in her de- 
scriptions of children. 

Saturday Review. 

She looks out upon the world with the most 
entire enjoyment of all the good that there is in 
it to enjoy, and an enlarged compassion for all 
the ill that there is in it to pity. But she never 
either whimpers over the sorrowful lot of man, 
or snarls and chuckles over his follies and little- 
nesses and impotence. 

MacmillatC s Magazine. 

In “ George Eliot’s ” books the effect is pro- 
duced by the most delicate strokes and the nicest 
proportions. In her pictures men and women 
fill the foreground, while thin lines and faint color 
show us the portentous clouds of fortune or cir- 
cumstance looming in the dim distance behind 
them and over their heads. She does not paint 
the world as a huge mountain,with pigmies crawl- 
ing or scrambling up its rugged sides to inac- 
cessible peaks, and only tearing their flesh more 
or less for their pains. * * Each and all of 

“ George Eliot’s ” novels abound in reflections 
that beckon on the alert reader into pleasant 
paths and fruitful fields of thought. 

Spectator. 

“George Eliot” has Sir Walter Scott’s art 
for revivifying the past. You plunge into it with 
as headlong an interest as into the present. For 
this she compensates by a wider and deeper in- 
tellectual grasp. 

Examiner. 

“George Eliot’s” novels belong to the endur- 
ing literature of our country — durable, not for 
the fashionableness of its pattern, but for the 
texture of its stuff. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 


Harper & Brothers will send either of the above books by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the 

United States, on receipt of the price. 


By Anthony Trollope. 


Anthony Trollope’s position grows more secure with every new work which comes from his 
pen. He is one of the most prolific of writers, yet his stories improve with time instead of grow- 
ing weaker, and each is as finished and as forcible as though it were the sole production of the 
author. — N. K Sun, 


THE GOLDEN LION OF GRANPERE. Engravings. 8vo, Paper, 75 cts. 

THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS. 8vo. {Nearly Ready.) 

RALPH THE HEIR. Engravings. 8vo, Cloth, $i 75; Paper, $i 25. 

SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE. Engravings, 8vo, 
Paper, 50 cents. 

THE VICAR OF BULLHAMPTON. Engravings. 8vo, Cloth, 75; Pa- 
per, %i 25. 

THE BELTON ESTATE. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 

THE BERTRAMS. i2mo, Cloth, 50. 

BROWN, TONES, AND ROBINSON. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 

CAN YOU FORGIVE HERl Engravings. 8 vo. Cloth, $2 00; Paper, $i 50. 

CASTLE RICHMOND. 12 mo. Cloth, $i 50. 

THE CLA VERINGS. Engravings. 8vo, Cloth, $i 00 j Paper, 50 cents. 

DOCTOR THORNE. i2mo, Cloth, $i 50. 

FRAMLEY PARSONAGE. Engravings. 12 mo, Cloth, $-3 75. 

HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT. Engravings. 8vo, Cloth, $i 50; Paper, 
$1 00. 

MISS MACKENZIE. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 

NORTH AMERICA. i2mo, Cloth, $i 50. 

ORLEY FARM. Engravings. 8vo, Cloth, $2 00; Paper, $i 50. 

RHINE AS FINN, the Irish Mejnher. Illustrated by J. E. Millais, R.A. 8vo, 
Cloth, $1 75 ; Paper, 25. 

RACHEL RA Y. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 

SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON. Engravings. 8 vo, Cloth, $2 00; Pa- 
per, $1 50. 

THE LAST CHRONICLE OF PARSE T. Engravings. 8vo, Cloth, $2 00 ; 
Paper, 50. 

THE THREE CLERKS. i2mo, Cloth, $i 50. 

THE WARDEN and PARCHES TER TOWERS. In One Volume. 
8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 

THE WEST INDIES AND THE SPANISH MAIN. i2mo. Cloth, 
$i 50. 


Published by HARPER 6- BROTHERS, New York. 


Harper & Brothers will send either of the above works by mail, postage prepaid, to any 
part of the United States, on receipt of the price. 


HARPER’S LIBRARY OF SELECT lOVELS. 


“The Library of Select Novels” has become an institution, a reliable and unfailing reC' 
reative resource essential to the comfort of countless readers. The most available entertainment 
of modern times is fiction : from the cares of busy life, from the monotonous routine of a special 
vocation, in the intervals of business and in hours of depression, a good story, with fiuthful de- 
scriptions of nature, with true pictures of life, with authentic characterization, lifts the mind out 
of the domain of care, refreshes the feelings, and enlists the imagination. The Harpers’ “Libra- 
ry of Select Novels ” is rapidly approaching its four hundredth number, and it is safe to say that 
no series of books exists which combines attractiveness and economy, local pictures and beguiling 
narrative, to such an extent and in so convenient a shape. In railway-cars and steamships, in 
boudoirs and studios, libraries and chimney corners, on verandas and in private sanctums, the fa- 
miliar brown covers are to be seen. These books are enjoyed by all classes ; they appear of an 
average merit, and with a constant succession that is marvelous ; and in subject and style offer a 
remarkable variety . — Boston Transcript. 


PRICE 


1. Pelham. By Buhver $0 75 

2. The Disowned. By Bulwer 75 

3. Devereux. By Bulwer 5 ) 

4. Paul Clifford. By Bulwer 50 

5. Eugene Aram. By Bulwer 50 

6. The Last Days of Pompeii. By Bulwer, ...... 50 

7. The Czarina. By Mrs, llofland 50 

8. Kienzi. By Bulwer 75 

9. Self-Devotion. By Miss Campbell 50 

10. The Nabob at Home 50 

11. Ernest Maltravers. By Bulwer 50 

12. Alice ; or, The Mysteries. By Bulwer 50 

13. The I.ast of the Barons. By Bulwer 1 00 

14. Forest Days. By James 50 

15. Adam Brown, the ^Merchant. By II. Smith ... 50 

IG. Pilgrims of the Rhine. By Bulwer 25 

17. The Home. By Miss Bremer 50 

18. The Lost Ship. By Captain Neale 75 

19. The False Heir. By James 50 

2h. The Neighbors. By Miss Bremer 50 

21. Nina. By Miss Bremer 50 

22. The President’s Daughters. By Miss Bremer. . 25 

2.3. The Banker’s Wife. By Mrs. Gore 50 

24. 'I'he Birthright. By Mrs, Gore 25 

25. New.Sketchesof Every-day Life. By Miss Bremer 50 

2G. Arabella Stuart. By James 50 

27. The Grumbler. By Miss Pickering .50 

28. I'he Unloved One. By Mrs. Hofland 50 

29. Jack of the Mill. By William Howitt 25 

30. 'I'he Heretic. By Lajetchnikoff 50 

31. The Jew. By Spindler. 75 

32. Arthur, By Sue 75 

33. Chats worth. By Ward 50 

34. 'i’he Prairie Bird. By C. A. Murray 1 00 

35. Amy Herbert. By Miss Sewell 50 

36. Rose d’Albret. By James 50 

37. 'I'he Triumphs of 'f ime. By Mrs. Marsh 75 

38. 'Fhe 11 Family. By Miss Bremer 50 

3.». 'I'he Grandfather. By Miss Pickering 50 

40. Arrah Neil. By James 50 

41. 'I'he Jilt 50 

42. 'Pales from the German 50 

43. Arthur Arundel. By H. Smith 50 

44. Agincourt. By James 50 

45. 'file Regent’s Daughter 50 

40. 'I'he Maid of Honor 50 

47. Safia. By De Beauvoir 50 

48. Look to the End. By Mrs. Ellis 50 

49. The Improvisatore. By Andersen 50 

50. The Gambler’s Wife. By Mrs. Grey 50 

51. Veronica. By Zschokke 50 

52. Zoe, By Miss Jewsbury 50 

.53. Wyoming 50 

54. De Rohan. By Sue 50 

55. Self. By the Author of “ Cecil” 75 

50. 'I'he Smuggler. By James 75 

57, The Breach of Promise 50 

58, Parsonage of Mora. By Miss Bremer 25 

59, A Chance Medley. By T. C. Grattan 50 

60, The White Slave 1 00 

61, The Bosom Friend. By Mrs. Grey 50 

02. Amaury. By Dumas 50 

03. The Author's Daughter. By Mary Howitt 25 

64. Only a Fiddler, &c. By Andersen 50 

66. The Whiteboy. By Mrs. Hall 50 


PRICE 

66. The Foster-Brother. Edited by Leigh Hunt. .$0 50 

67. Love and Mesmerism. By 11, Smith 75 

08. Ascanio. By Dumas 75 

69. Lady of Milan. Edited by Mrs. 'Phomson. ... 75 

70. The Citizen of Prague 1 00 

71. 'Phe Royal Favorite. By Mrs, Gore 59 

72. The Queen of Denmark. By Mrs, Goi’e 50 

73. 'Phe Elves, cS:c. By 'Pieck 50 

74. 75. 'Phe Stepmother. By James 1 25 

76. Jessie’s Flirtations 50 

77. (Jhevalier d’Harmental. By Dumas 50 

78. Peers and Parvenus. By Mrs. Gore 50 

79. The Commander of Malta. By Sue 50 

80. 'Phe Female Minister 50 

81. Emilia Wyndham. By Mrs. Marsh 75 

82. The Bush-Ranger. By Charles Roweroft 50 

83. The Chronicles of Clovernook 25 

84. Genevieve. By I.amartine 25 

85. Livonian 'Pales 25 

86. Lettice Arnold. By Mrs. Marsh 25 

87. Father Darcy. By Mrs. Marsh 75 

83, Leontine. By Mrs. Maberly 50 

89. Heidelberg. By James 50 

90. Lucretia. By Bulwer 75 

91. Beauchamp. By James 75 

92. 94. Fortgseue. By Knowles 1 00 

9.3. Daniel Dennison, &c. By Mrs. Holland 50 

95. (Tnq-]Mars. By De Vigny 50 

96. Woman’s 'Prials. By Mrs. S. C. Hall 75 

97. The Castle of Ehrenstein. By James 50 

98. Marriage, By Miss S, Fender 50 

99. Roland Cashel. By Lever 1 25 

100. 'Phe Martins of Cro’ Martin. By Lever 1 25 

101. Russell. By James 50 

102. A Simple Story. By Mrs. Inchbald 50 

103. Norman’s Bridge. By Mrs. Marsh 50 

104. Alamance 50 

105. Margaret Graham. By James 25 

106. The Wayside Cross. By E, H. Milman 25 

107. 'Phe Convict. By James 50 

108. Midsummer Eve. By Mrs. S. C. Hall 50 

109. Jane Eyre. By Currer Bell 75 

110. 'Phe Last of the Fairies. By James 25 

111. Sir Theodore Broughton. By James 50 

112. Self-Control. By Mary Brunton 75 

113. 114, Harold. By Bulwer 1 00 

115. Brothers and Sisters. By Miss Bremer 50 

116. Gowrie. By James 50 

117. A Whim and its Consequences. By James. . . 50 

118. Three Sisters and Three Fortunes, By G. H. 

Lewes 75 

119. The Discipline of Life .50 

120. Thirty Years Since. By James 75 

121. Mary Barton. By Mrs. Gaskell 50 

122. The Great Hoggarty Diamond. By Thackeray 25,' 

123. The Forgery. By James .50' 

124. The Midnight Sun. By Miss Bremer 25 

125. 126. The Caxtons. By Bulwer 75 

127. Mordaunt Hall. By Mrs, Marsh 50 

128. My Uncle the Curate 50 

129. The Woodman. By James 75 

130. The Green Hand. A “ Short Yam” 7S 

131. Sidonia the Sorceress. By Meinhold 1 00 

132. Shirley. By Currer Bell 1 00 

133. The Ogilvies. By Miss Mulo«k 50 


Harper^ s Library of Select Novels, 




PRICE 

134. Constance Lyndsay. By G. C. H. $0 50 


135. Sir Edward Graham. By Miss Sinclair 1 00 

136. Hands not Hearts. By Miss Wilkinson 50 

137. The Wilmingtons. By Mrs. Marsh 50 

13S. Ned Allen. By D. Hannay 50 

139. Night and Morning. By Bulwer 75 

140. The Maid of Orleans 75 

141. Antonina. By Wilkie Collins 50 

142. Zanoni. By Bulwer 50 

143. Keginald Hastings. By M arburton 50 

144. Pride and IiTesolution 50 

145. The Old Oak Chest. By James 50 

146. Julia Howard. By Mrs. Martin Bell 50 

147. Adelaide Lindsay. Edited by Mrs. Marsh. ... 50 

14S. Petticoat Government. By Mrs. Trollope 50 

14 \ The Luttrells. By F. Williams 50 

150. Singleton Fontenoy, R. N. By Hannay 50 

151. Olive. By Miss Mulock 50 

152. Henry Smeaton. EyMaraes 50 

153. Time, the Avenger. By Mrs. Marsh 50 

154. The Commissioner. By James 1 00 

155. The Wife’s Sister. By Mrs. Hubback 50 

156. The Gold Worshipers 50 

157. The Daughter of Night. By Fullom 25 

15S. Stuart of Dunleath. By Hon. Caroline Norton 50 

159. Arthur Conway. By Captain E. H. Milman. . 50 

160. The Fate. By James 50 

161. The Lady and the Priest. By Mrs. Maberly. . 50 

162. Aims and Obstacles. By James 50 

163. The Tutor’s Ward 50 

164. Florence Sackville. By Mrs. Burbury 75 

165. Ravenscliffe. By Mrs. Marsh 50 

166. Maurice Tiernay. By Lever 1 00 

167. The Head of the Family. By Miss Mulock. . . 75 

16S. Darien. By War burton 50 

169. Falkenburg 75 

170. The Daltons. By Lever 1 50 

171. Ivar; or, The Skjuts-Boy. By Miss Carlen . . 50 

172. Pequinillo. By James 50 

173. Anna Hammer. By Temme 50 

174. A Life of Vicissitudes. By James 50 

175 Henry Esmond. By Thackeray 50 

176, 177. My Novel. By Bulwer 1 50 

175. Katie Stewart. By Mrs. Oliphant 25 

179. Castle Avon. By Mrs. IMarsh 50 

180. Agnes Sorel. By James 50 

181. Agatha's Husband. By Miss Mulock 50 

182. Villette. By Currer Bell 75 

183. Lover’s Stratagem. By Miss Carlen 50 

184. Clouded Happiness. By Countess D’Orsay. . . 50 

185. Charles Auchester. A Memorial 75 

ISO. Lady Lee’s Widowhood 50 

187. The Dodd Family Abroad. By Lever 1 25 

183. Sir Jasper Carew. By Lever 75 

189. Quiet Heart. By Mrs. Oliphant 25 

190. Auhrey. By Mrs. Marsh 75 

191. Ticonderoga. By James 50 

192. Hard Times. By Dickens 50 

193. The Young Husband. By Mrs. Grey 50 

194. The Mother’s Recompense. By Grace Aguilar. 75 

195. Avillion, and other Tales. By Miss Mulock. . . 1 25 

196. North and South. . By Mrs. Gaskell 50 

197. Country Neighborhood. By Miss Dupuy 50 

198. Constance Herbert. By Miss Jewsbury 50 

199. The Heiress of Haughton. By Mrs. Marsh. . . 50 

200. The Old Dominion. By James 50 

201. John Halifax. By Miss Mulock 75 

202. Evelyn Marston. By Mrs. Marsh 50 

203. Fortunes of Glen core. By Lever 50 

204. Leonora d’Orco. By James 50 

205. Nothing New. By Miss Mulock 50 

206. The Rose of Ashurst. By Mrs. Marsh 50 

207. The Athelings. By Mrs. Oliphant 75 

208. Scenes of Clerical Life. By George Eliot 75 

209. My Lady Ludlow. By Mrs. Gaskell 25 

210. 211. Gerald Fitzgerald. By Lever 50 

212. A Life for a Life. By Miss Mulock 50 

213. Sword and Gown. By Geo. Lawrence 25 

214. Misrepresentation. By Anna H. Drury 1 00 

215. The iSlill on the Floss. By George Eliot 75 

216. One of Them. By Lever 75 

217. A Day’s Ride. By Lever 50 

218. Notice to Quit. By Wills 50 

219. A Strange Story. By Bulwer 1 00 

220. The Struggles of Brown, Jones, and Robinson. 

By Anthony Trollope 50 

221. Abel Drake’s Wife. By John Saunders 75 

223. Olive Blake’s Good Work. By Jeatfreson. .. . 75 

223. The Professor’s Lady <.... 25 

224. Mistress and Maid. By Miss Mulock 50 

22.5. Aurora Floyd. By M. E. Braddon 75 

226. Barrington. By Lever - 75 

227. Sylvia’s Lovers. By Mrs. Gaskell 75 


PRICK 

228. A First Friendship $0 50 

229. A Dark Night’s Work. By Mrs. Gaskell 5i) 

230. Countess Gisela. By E. Marlitt 25 

231. St. Olave’s 75 

232. A Point of Honor 50 

233. Live it Down. By Jeaffreson 1 00 

234. Martin Pole. By Saunders 50 

235. Mary Lyndsay. By Lady Emily Ponsonby. . . 50 

236. Eleanor’s Victory. By M. E. Braddon 75 

237. Rachel Ray. By Trollope 50 

238. John Marchmont’s Legacy. By M. E. Brad- 

don 75 

239. Annis Warleigh’s Fortunes. By Holme Lee. . 75 

240. The Wife’s Evidence. By Wills 50 

241. Barbara's History. By Amelia B. Edwards. . . 75 

242. Cousin Phillis. By Mrs. Gaskell 25 

243. What will he do with It? By Bulwer 1 .50 

244. The Ladder of Life. By Amelia B. Edwards. . 5o 

245. Denis Duval. By Tliackeray 50 

246. Maurice Dering. By Geo. Lawrence 50 

247. Margaret Denzil’s History 75 

24S. Quite Alone. By George Augustus Sala 75 

249. Mattie: a Stray 75 

250. My Brother’s Wife. By Amelia B. Edwards. . 50 

251. Uncle Silas. ByJ. S. LeFanu 75 

252. Lovel the Widower. By Thackeray 25 

253. Miss Mackenzie. By Anthony Trollope 50 

254. On Guard. By Annie Thomas 50 

255. Theo Leigh. By Annie Thomas 50 

256. Denis Donne. By Annie Thomas 50 

257. Belial 50 

258. Carry’s Confession. By the Author of “Mat- 

. tie : a Stray” 75 

259. Miss Carew. By Amelia B. Edwards 50 

260. Hand and Glove. By Amelia B. Edwards .... 50 

261. Guy Deverell. By J. S. Le Fanu 5o 

262. Half a Million of Money. By Amelia B. Ed- 

wards 7.5 

263. The Belton Estate. By Anthony Trollope. .. . 50 

264. Agnes. By Mrs. Oliphant 75 

265. Walter Goring. By Annie Thomas 7.5 

266. Maxwell Drewitt. By Mrs. J. H. Riddell 75 

267. The Toilers of the Sea. By Victor Hugo 75 

268. Miss Mai’joribanks. By Mrs. Oliphant 50 

269. The True History of a Little Ragamuffin 50 

270. Gilbert Rugge. By the Author of “A First 

Friendship” 1 00 

271. Sans Merci. By Geo. Lawrence 50 

272. Phemie Keller. By Mrs. J. H. Riddell 5 > 

273. Land at Last. By Edmund Yates 50 

274. Felix Holt, the Radical. By George Eliot .... 75 

275. Bound to the Wheel. By John Saunders 75 

276. All in the Dark. By J. S. Le Fanu 50 

277. Kissing the Rod. By Edmund Yates 75 

278. The Race for Wealth. By Mrs. J. 11. Riddell. . 75 

279. Lizzie Lorton of Greyrigg. By IMrs. E. Lynn 

Linton 75 

280. The Beauclercs, Father and Son. By Clarke. 50 

281. Sir Brooke Fossbrooke. By Charles Lever ... 5 ) 

282. Madonna Mary. By Mrs. Oliphant 5 t 

283. Cradock Nowell. By R. D. Blackmore 75 

284. Bernthal. From the German of L. Miihlbach. 60 

285. Rachel’s Secret 75 

286. The Claverings. By Anthony Trollope 50 

2S7. The Village on the Cliff. By Miss Thackeray. 25 

288. Played Out. By Annie Thomas 75 

289. Black Sheep. By Edmund Yates 50 

290. Sowing the Wind. By Mrs. E. Lynn Linton.. 50 

291. Nora and Archib.ald Lee 5o 

292. Raymond’s Heioine 50 

293. Mr. Wynyard’s Ward. By Holme Lee 50 

294. Alec Forbes of Howglen. By Mac Donald 75 

295. No Man’s Friend. By F. AV. Robinson 75 

296. Called to Account. By Annie Thomas 50 

297. Caste 50 

298. The Curate’s Discipline. By Mrs. Eiloart.. . . . 60 

299. Circe. By Babington White 50 

300. The Tenants of M.aloiy. By J. S. Le Fanu. . . . 50 

301. Carlyon’s Year. By the Author of “Lost Sir 

Massingberd,” &c 25 

302. The Waterdale Neighbors. By the Author of 

“Paul Massie” 50 

303. Mabel’s Progress. By the Author of “Aunt 

Margaret’s Trouble” 50 

804. Guild Court. By George Mac Donald 50 

305. The Brothel’s’ Bet. By Emilie Flygare Carlen 25 

306. Playing for High Stakes. By Annie Thomas. . 25 

807. Margaret’s Engagement 60 

308. One of the Family. By the Author of “ Car- 

lyon’s Year” £5 

309. Five Hundred Pounds Reward. By a Barrister 50 

310. Brownlows. By Mrs. Oliphant 38 

311. Charlotte’s Inheritance. By M. E. Braddon . . 5^ 


Harper^ s Library of Select Novels, 


3 


FRICB 


312. Jeanie’s Quiet Life. By the Author of “St. 

^Cr/» y 


313. Poor Humanity. By F. W. Robinson 50 

314. Brakespeare. By Geo. Lawrence 50 

315. A Lost Name. By J. Sheridan Le Fanu 50 

316. Love or Marriage ? By William Black 50 

317. Dead-Sea Fruit. By M. E. Braddon 60 

318. The Dower House. By Annie Thomas 50 

319. The Bramleighs of Bishop’s P'olly. By Lever. 50 

320. Mildred. By Georgiana M. Craik 50 

321. Nature’s Nobleman. By the Author of “Ra- 

chel’s Secret’’ 50 

322. Kathleen. By the Author of “Raymond’s He- 

roine’’ 60 

323. That Boy of Norcott’s. By Charles Lever.. ... 25 

324. In Silk Attire. By W. Black 50 

325. Hetty. By Henry Kingsley. 25 

326. False Colors. By Annie Thomas 50 

327. Meta’s Faith. By the Author of “ St. Olave’s”. 50 
323. Found Dead. By the Author of “Carlyou’s 

Year’’ 50 

329. Wrecked in Port. By Edmund Yates 50 

330. The Minister’s Wife. By Mrs. Oliphant 75 

331. A Beggar on Horseback. By the Author of 

“Carlyon’s Year’’ 35 

332. Kitty. By the Author of “Doctor Jacob’’ ... . 50 

333. Only Herself. By Annie Thomas 60 

334. Hirell. By John Saunders 60 

335. Under Foot. By Alton Clyde 50 

336. So Runs the World Away. By Mrs. A. C. Steele. 50 

337. Baffled. By Julia Goddard 75 

838. Beneath the Wheels. By the Author of “ Olive 

Varcoe’’ 50 

339. Stern Necessity. By F. W. Robinson 50 

340. Gwendoline’s Harvest. By the Author of 

“Carlyon’s Year” 25 

341. Kilmeny. By W. Black 50 

342. John: a Love Story. By Mrs. Oliphant 60 

343. True to Herself. By F. W. Robinson 50 

344. V eronica. By the Author of “ Aunt Margaret’s 

Trouble” 50 

315. A Dangerous Guest. By the Author of “ Gil- 
bert Rugge” 50 


PRICE 


346. Estelle Russell $0 75 

347. The Heir Expectant. By the Author of “ Ray- 

mond’s Hei’oiue” 50 

348. Which is the Heroine ? 50 

349. The Vivian Romance. By Mortimer Collins. . 50 

350. In Duty Bound. Illustrated 50 

351. The Warden and Barchester Towers. In 1 vol. 

By Anthony Trollope 75 

352. From Thistles — Grapes ? By Mrs. Eiloart. ... 50 

353. A Siren. By T. Adolphus Trollope 50 

354. Sir Hariy Hotspur of Humblethwaite. By 

Anthony Trollope. Illustrated 50 

365. Earl’s Dene. By R. E. Francillon 50 

356. Daisy Nichol. By Lady Hardy 50 

357. Bred in the Bone. By the Author of “ Carly- 

on’s Year” 50 

358. Fenton’s Quest By Miss Braddon. Illustra- 

ted 50 

359. Monarch of Mincing-Lane. By W. Black. Il- 

lustrated 50 

360. A Life’s Assize. By Mrs. J. H. Riddell 60 

361. Anteros. By Geo. Lawrence 50 

362. Her Lord and Master. By Mrs. Ross Church.. 50 

363. Won — Not Wooed. By the Author of “ Carly- 

on’s Year” 50 

364. For Lack of Gold. By Charles Gibbon 50 

365. Anne Furness. By the Author of “Mabel’s 

Progress” 75 

366. A Daughter of Heth. By W. Black 50 

367. Durnton Abbey. By T. A. Trollope 50 

368. Joshua Marvel. By B. L. Faijeon 40 

369. The Levels of Arden. By Miss Braddon. Il- 

lustrated 75 

370. Fair to See. By L. W. M. Lockhart 75 

371. Cecil’s Tryst. By the Author of “Carlyon’s 

Year” 50 

372. Patty. By Katharine S. Macquoid 50 

373. Maud Mohan. By Annie Thomas 25 

374. Grif. By B. L. Farjeon 40 

375. A Bridge of Glass. By F. W. Robinson 50 

376. Albert Lunel. By Lord Brougham 75 

377. A Good Investment. By Wm. Flagg 50 

378. A Golden Sorrow. By Mrs. Cashel Hoey 50 


Mailing Notice , — Harper & Brothers ivill send their Books by Mail, postage free, to any part of the United 

States, on receipt of the Price. 


NOVELS BY STANDARD AUTHORS 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New Yokk. 


Harper & Brothers publish, in addition to others, including their Library of Select Novels, 
the following Standard Works of Fiction : 


{For full titles, see Harper's Catalogue.) 


DICKENS’S NOVELS, Harper’s Household Edition: 
Oliver Twist. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $1 00 ; Pa- 
per, 60 cents. 

Martin Chuzzlewit. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $1 50 ; 
Paper, $1 00. 

To be followed by the Author's other novels. 
CHURCH’S (Mrs. Ross)* Prey of the Gods. 8vo, Paper, 
30 cents. ^ 

FARJEON’S (B. L.)* Blade-o’-Grass. Illustrations. 
8vo, Paper, 35 cents. 

BLACKWELL’S The Island Neighbors. Illustrated. 
8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 

WILKIE COLLINS’S* Armadale. Illustrations. Svo, 
Cloth, $2 00 ; Paper, $1 50. 

Man and Wife. Illustrations. 8yo, Cloth, $1 50 ; 
Paper, $1 00. 

Moonstone. Ill’s. 8vo, Cloth, $2 00 ; Paper, $1 60. 
No Name. Ill’s. 8vo, Cloth, $2 00; Paper, $1 50. 
Poor Miss Finch. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $1 50 ; 
Paper, $1 00. 

Woman in White. Illustrations. Svo, Cloth, $2 00 ; 
Paper, $1 50. 

Queen of Hearts. 12rao, Cloth, $1 50. 

BAKER’S (Wm.) New Timothy. 12mo, Cloth, $1 60. 
luside. Illustrated by Nast. Svo, Cloth, $1 75; 
Paper, $1 25. 

BRADDON’S (M. E.)* Birds of Prey. Illustrations, 
Svo, Paper, 75 cents. 


BRONTE Novels: 

Jane Eyre. By Currer Bell (Charlotte Bront6). 
12mo, Cloth, $1 60. 

Shirley. By Currer Bell. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 
Villette. By Currer Bell. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 
The Professor. By Currer Bell. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 
Tenant of Wildfell Hall. By Acton Bell (Anna 
Bronte). 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Wuthering Heights. By Ellis Bell (Emily Bronte). 
12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

BOUND to John Company. Ill’s. Svo, Paper, 75 cents. 
BROOKS’S Silver Cord. Ill’s. Svo, Cloth, $2 00. 
Sooner or Later. Illustrations. Svo, Cloth, $2 00 ; 
Paper, $1 50. 

The Gordian Knot. Svo, Paper, 50 cents. 
BULWER’S (Sir E. B. Lytton)* My Novel. Svo, Pa- 
per, $1 60 ; Library Edition, 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, 
$3 50. 

What will He Do with It? Svo, Paper, $1 50; 
Cloth, $2 00. 

The Caxtons. Svo, Paper, 75 cents ; Library Edi- 
tion, 12mo, Cloth, $1 00. 

Leila. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00. 

Godolphin. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

BULWER’S (Robert— “Owen Meredith”) The Ring 
of Amasis. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

CURTIS’S (G. W.) Trumps. Ill’s. 12mo, Cloth, $2 00. 
DE FOREST'S Miss Ravenel’s Conversion from Se- 
cession to Loyalty. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 


* For other Novels by the same author, see Library of Select Novels. 


4 


Harper’s Standard Novels. 


CHAKLES KEADE’S Terrible Temptation. Ill’s. 
8vo, Paper, 30 cents ; 12mo, Cloth, 75 cents. 

Hard Cash. Illustrations. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 
Griffith Gaunt. Ill’s. 8vo, Paper, 25 cents. 

It is Never Too Late to Mend. 8vo, Paper, 35 
cents. 

Love Me Little, Love Itle Long. 8vo, Paper, 35 
cents ; 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Foul Play. 8vo, Paper, 25 cents. 

White Lies. 8vo, Paper, 35 cents. 

Peg Woffington and Other Tales. 8vo, Paper, 60 
cents. 

Put Yourself in His Place. Illustrations. 8vo, Pa- 
per, 75 cents ; Cloth, $1 25 ; 12mo, Cloth, $1 00. 
The Cloister and the Hearth. 8vo, Paper, 50 cts. 
HE MILLE’S Cord and Creese. Illustrations. 8vo, 
Cloth, $1 25 ; Paper, 75 cents. 

The American Baron. Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, 
$1 50 ; Paper, $1 00. 

The Cryptogram. Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth,$2 CO; 
Paper, $1 50. 

The Dodge Club. Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, $1 25 ; 
Paper, 75 cents. 

DE WITT’S (Madame) A French Country Family. 
Illustrations. 12mOj Cloth, $1 50. 

Motherless. Illustrations. 12mo, Cloth, $l 50. 
EDGEWORTH’S Novels, lOvols. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50 
per vol. 

Frank. 2 vols., 18mo, Cloth, $1 50. , 

Harry and Lucy. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $3 00. 
Moral Tales. 2 vols., 18mo, Cloth, $1 60. 

Popular Tales. 2 vols., ISmo, Cloth, $1 50. 
Rosamond. Illustrations. 12mo, Cloth, $1 60. 
EDWARDS’S (Amelia B.)* Debenham’s Vow. Illus- 
trations. 8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 

ELIOT’S (George) Adam Bede. Illustrations. 12mo, 
Cloth, $1 00. 

The Mill on the Floss. Ill’s. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00. 
Felix Holt, the Radical. Illustrations. 12mo, 
Cloth, $1 00. 

Romola. Illustrations. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00 
Scenes of Clerical Life and Silas Marner. Illus- 
trated. 12mo, Cloth, $1 00. 

GASKELL’S (Mrs.)* Cranford. 12rao, Cloth, $1 25. 
[Moorland Cottage. 18mo, Cloth, 75 cents. 

Right at Last, &c. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Wives and Daughters. Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, 
$2 00 ; Paper, $1 50. 

JAMES’S* The Club Book. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

De L’Orme. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Gentleman of the Old School. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 
The Gipsy. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Henry of Guise. i2mo. Cloth, $1 60. 

Henry Masterdou. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

The Jacquerie. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Morley Ernstein. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

One in a Thousand. 12mo, Cloth, $1 60. 

Philip Augustus. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Attila. 12mo, Cloth, $1 60. 

Corse de Lion. 12mo, Cloth, $1 60. 

The Ancient Regime. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

The Man at Arms. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Charles Tyrrel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

The Robber. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Richelieu. 12mo, Cloth, $1 60. 

The Huguenot. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

The King’s Highway. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

The String of Pearls. 12mo, Cloth, $1 25. 

Mary of Burgundy. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Darnley. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

John Marston Hall. 12mo, Cloth, $1. 50. 

The Desultory Man. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 
JEAFFRESON’S* Isabel. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Not Dead Yet. 8vo, Cloth, $1 75 ; Paper, $1 25. 
KINGSLEY’S Alton Locke. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Yeast: a Problem. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 
KINGSLEY’S (Henry)* Stretton. 8vo, Paper, 40 cts. 
LAWRENCE’S (Geo. A.)* Guy Livingstone. 12mo, 
Cloth, $1 50. 

Breaking a Butterfly. 8vo, Paper, 35 cents. 
LEE’S (Holme)* Kathie Braude. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Sylvan Holt’s Daughter. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 
LEVER’S* Lnttrell of Arran. 8vo, Cloth, $1 60; Pa- 
per, $1 00. 

Tony Butler. 8vo, Cloth, $1 50 ; Paper, $1 00. 
Lord Kilgobbin. Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, $1 50 ; 
Paper, $1 00. 

MCCARTHY’S* My Enemy’s Daughter. Illustrated. 
8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 

MACDONALD’S* Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood. 
12mo, Cloth, $1 75. 


MULOCK’S (Miss)* A Brave Lady. Illustrated. 8vo, 
Cloth, $1 50 ; Paper, $1 00 ; 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

The Woman’s Kingdom. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, 
$1 50 ; Paper, $1 00 ; 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

A Life for a Life. 12mo, Cloth, $1 60. 

Christian’s Mistake. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

A Noble Life. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

John Halifax, Gentleman. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

The Unkind Word and Other Stories. 12mo, 
Cloth, $1 50. 

Two Marriages. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Olive. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Ogilvies. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Head of the Family. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

MELVILLE’S Mardi. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $3 0ft, 

Moby-Dick. 12mo, Cloth, $1 75. 

Omoo. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Pierre. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Redburn. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Typee. 12mo, Cloth, $1 60. 

Whitejacket. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

MISS Van Kortland. 8vo, Paper, $1 00. 

MORE’S (Hannah) Complete Works. 1 8vo, 
Sheep, $3 00. 

MY Daughter Elinor. Svo, Cloth, $1 76 ; Paper, $1 25. 

MY Husband’s Crime. Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, 76 cts. 

OLIPHANT’S (Mrs.)* Chronicles of Carlingford. Svo, 
Cloth, $1 75 ; Paper, $1 25. 

Last of the Mortimers. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Laird of Norlaw. 12mo, Cloth, $1 60. 

Lucy Crofton. 12mo, Cloth, $1 60. 

Perpetual Curate. 8vo, Cloth, $1 50 ; Paper, $1 00. 

A Sou or the Soil. 8vo, Cloth, $1 50 ; Paper, $1 00. 

RECOLLECTIONS of Eton. Illustrations. 8vo, Pa- 
per, 50 cents. 

ROBINSON’S (F. W.)* For Her Sake. Illustrations. 
8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 

Christie’s Faith. 12mo, Cloth, $1 75. 

SEDGWICK’S (Miss) Hope Leslie. 2 vols., 12mo, 
Cloth, $3 00. 

Live and Let Live. 18mo, Cloth, 75 cents. 

Married or Single ? 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $3 00. 

Means and Ends. 18mo, Cloth, 75 cents. 

Poor Rich Man and Rich Poor Man. 18mo, Cloth, 
75 cents. 

Stories for Young Persons. 18mo, Cloth, 75 cents. 

Tales of Glauber Spa. 12rao, Cloth, $1 60. 

Wilton Harvey and Other Tales. 18mo, Cloth, 
75 cents. 

SEDGWICK’S (Mrs.) Walter Thornley. 12mo, Cloth, 
$1 50. 

SHERWOOD’S (^Irs.) Works. Illustrations. 16 vols., 
12mo, Cloth, $1 50 per vol. 

Henry Milner. 2 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $3 00. 

Lady of the Manor. 4 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $6 00. 

Roxobel. 3 vols., ISmo, Cloth, $2 25. 

THACKERAY’S (W. M.) Novels: 

Vanity Fair. 32 Illustrations. Svo, Paper, 50 cts. 

Pendennis. 179 Illustrations. Svo, Paper, 75 cts. 

The Virginians. 150 Ill’s. Svo, Paper, 75 cents. 

The Newcomes. 162 Ill’s. Svo, Paper, 75 cents. 

The Adventures of Philip. Portrait of Author 
and 64 Illustrations. Svo, Paper, 50 cents. 

Henry Esmond and Lovel the Widower. Illus- 
trations. Svo, Paper, 50 cents. 

TOM BROWN’S School Days. By an Old Boy. II- 
iustratious. Svo, Paper, 50 cents. 

TOM BROWN at Oxford. Ill’s. Svo, Paper, 75 cents. 

TROLLOPE’S (Anthony)* Bertrams. 12mo, Cloth, 
$1 50. 

Can You Forgive Her ? Svo, Cloth, $2 00 ; Paper, 
$1 50. 

Castle Richmond. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Doctor Thorne. 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

Framley Parsonage. Ill’s. 12mo, Cloth, $1 75. 

He Knew He was Right. Svo, Cloth, $1 50 ; Pa- 
per, $1 00. 

Last Chronicle of Barset. Svo, Cloth, $2 00 ; Pa- 
per, $1 50. 

Phineas Finn. Svo, Cloth, $1 75 ; Paper, $1 25. 

Orley Farm. Ill’s. Svo, Cloth, $2 00 ; Paper, $1 60. 

Ralph the Heir. Illustrations. Svo, Cloth, $1 75 ; 
Paper, $1 25. 

Small House at Allington. Ill’s. Svo, Cloth, $2 00. 

Three Clerks. 12mo, Cloth, $1 60. 

Vicar of Bullhampton. Illustrations. Svo, Cloth, 
$1 75 ; Paper, $1 25. 

TROLLOPE’S (T. A.)* Liudisfarn Chase. Svo, Cloth, 
$2 00 ; Paper, $1 50. 


• For other Novels by the same author, see Library of Select Novels. 



PRIME’S TRAVELS. 


AROUND THE WORLD. By E. D. G. Prime, D.D. With numerous Illus- 
trations. Crown 8vo, Cloth, $3 00. 


It is a delightful book of travel. Its interest does 
not depend upon adventure or novelty of scene ; its 
charm lies rather in the freshness, the geniality, the 
shrewd insight, and quick, intelligent perceptions that 
are evident in every chapter. For those who are for- 
tunate enough to possess the money and inclination 
for foreign travel, and who desire to go beyond the 
ordinary limit of a summer tour, the book will be a 
valuable and entertaining guide ; while those whose 
travels are confined to books and pictures wdll find a 
rich source of pleasure and instruction in following 
the author and his friends in their wanderings around 
the woiid, through the many lands and over the many 
seas which he describes. — Evening Post, N. Y. 

All parts of this volume are most pleasing to read, 
because of the clearness and vigor of the author’s style. 
A third of a century ago no man could have made so 
extensive a tour in less than three years; but now 
steam has done much toward the annihilation of time 
and s^ace to make tourists happy, whatever it may have 
done for lovers. Dr. Prime saw as much in a year as 
another man could have seen in thrice that time in ear- 
lier days ; and then he is so sagacious and quick an 
observer that he could obtain more knowledge than 
most men in a very short time. So we can conscien- 
tiously commend his volume as one that should be 
read by all who are in search of information, and who 
would have that information cleverly conveyed into 
their minds. The publishers have made the book one 
of the handsomest of productions; and the illustra- 
tions' are n6t only numerous, but exceedingly beauti- 
ful. — Boston Traveller. 

Dr. Prime is a pleasant and a fluent writer. He leads 
his reader from scene to scene of a traveler’s experi- 
ence, and tells his story so agreeably that we must 
follow him, whether or no. * * * Dr. Prime never proses. 
What he has to say he says directly and to the point, 
never boring us with too abstruse reflections, but al- 
ways holding our attention and riveting our interest. 
Books of travel such as this are acceptable to the 
last degree, and the more of them that are published 
the better for the intelligence and the education of the 
people Avho read them. — N. Y. Evening Express. 

Dr. Prime’s very entertaining volume touches upon 
very many topics of interest. His book is full of those 
reflections which a cultured man, in excellent health 
and surrounded with favorable conditions, could 
scarcely fail to make in the midst of new and impress- 
ive scenes. — A. Y. Standard. 

The story is fresh and interesting throughout. The 
author carefully avoids those points most likely to at- 
tract the ordinary tourist, and devotes himself to those 
phases of the character and industries of the countries 
visited w^hich have been neglected by former travelers. 
The book is neatly printed and handsomely illustrated. 
—A. Y. Star. 

His book is interesting throughout. He knows how 
to travel, w^hat to describe, and what to leave uude- 
scribed. We ai’e glad to receive this volume, and glad 
that so long and pleasant a journey has been so w'ell 
described. — Presbyterian, Philadelphia. 

Dr. Prime belongs to a family of lettered travelers ; 
and, like his brothers, he possesses the faculty of con- 
densing his recollections of the tour so as never to 
w'eary the reader. He had seen so much of the Old 
World before be set out on this last voyage that he 
had learned to check the exuberance of description. 
His opportunities for studying meu and manners were 
abundant, and we may be sure Dr. Prime “ observed” 
every thing worthy of note.— Jewish Messenger, New 
York. 

Embodies a vast amount of new and valuable in- 
formation, served up in an attractive, readable style. — 
Evening Bulletin, Philadelphia. 

He is evidently possessed of keen perception and of 
a judgment sufficiently discriminating to separate the 
wheat from the chaff, thus investing his work with a 
merit for valuable information which must secure its 
popularity. — Kexo Orleans Tirnes. 


Dr. Prime is an admirable traveler for himself and for 
others. A quick and thoughtful observer, a ready and 
pleasing writer, with excmlent judgment in avoiding 
tedious details and in presenting the most interesting 
facts and features of countries traversed, and, withal, 
a disposition to ignore the minor inconveniences of 
travel, and to make the best of every thing. The re- 
sult of this combination of rare qualifications of an 
interesting traveler is that Dr. Prime’s readers, whose 
name is legion, will enjoy his book with a zest like 
that of being an actual companion in his journeys. — 
Lutheran Observer, Philadelphia. 

He is a discriminating observer and an accurate 
sketcher. His volume is one which will not only in- 
terest, but instruct. — Western Christian Advocate, Cin- 
cinnati. 

The writer’s eyes and ears were open wherever he 
went, and he has recorded his observations in a pleas- 
ant, easy, and attractive style, without falling into the 
error too common with clerical travelers of moralizing 
on every thing which came in his way, or sermonizing 
on each passing event. — Union, Springfield. 

The Primes are a family of travelers, and have made 
a number of contributions to our literature in the way 
of books and sketches recording the result of their 
journeyings. There is a kind of kinship in their ways 
of thought and style of expression so close that all 
their writings might easily be the work of a single 
hand. Not the least valuable and interesting of these 
books is the latest, “Around the World,” by Rev. Dr. 
E. D. G. Prime. — Boston Journal. 

A more lively, entertaining, picturesque book of 
travel we have not taken in hjind for a long time. — 
Christian Leader. 

This is a very pleasant and instructive volume, con - 
taining much information, and is published in hand- 
some style, with many illustrations.— Boston Daily Ad- 
vertiser. 

Mr. Prime took in what others would not observe, 
and knows how to tell others what he saw. The book 
is not a geography of the countries through which he 
passed, but an exceedingly interesting description of 
the wonders found in nature and art, peculiarities of 
the people and animals. — Ohio Farmer, Cleveland. 

We do not know when we have been more enter- 
tained by a book of travel than we have by this. It is 
not a mere description of things seen or incidents oc- 
curing, but all that can interest in the way of tradition 
or history bearing upon the subject in hand is brought 
into play. — Gazette, Boston. 

His pages are radiant with instruction and enter- 
tainment. The reader may easily imagine himself in 
the actual enjoyment of the journey, so conversational 
and so vivid is the language of the author. The book 
contains much information concerning countries and 
people abroad which is entirely new.— Methodist Re- 
corder, Pittsburgh. 

The book is pleasantly interspersed with deep and 
sometimes eminently poetic reflections, which serve 
to embellish the hard facts of narrative as effectually 
as do the well-draAvn woodcuts with which the volume 
abounds. Altogether we pronounce it a flattering 
success for these days of worn-out themes of travel, 
and earnestly recommend it to all persons who ai-e 
desirous of obtaining a graphic as well as novel treat- 
ment of sketches of travel. — Telegram, N. Y. 

The work is written in a very entertaining style, and 
the descriptions of scenery, manners, customs, etc., 
are exceedingly entertaining ; while there are really 
valuable observations upon the systems of govern- 
ment and of religion that add greatly to the interest. 
— Evening Telegraph, Philadelphia. 

It conveys a pleasing general impression, inter- 
spersed all the way with objects of special interest 
and facts which we are glad to learn. It combines 
interest and entertainment in quite equal proportions, 
and gives the tired lounger at l^ome the cream of an 
expensive and wearisome though somewhat exciting 
tour. — Golden Age. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 


Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on receipt of $3 OO. 


THE NEW NOVELS 

PUBLISHED BY 

HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 


Harper & Brothers will send any of the folioicing books by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United 

States, on receipt of the price. 


HARPERS HOUSEHOLD DICKENS. El- 
egant and Cheap. With Characteristic Il- 
lustrations. 

OLIVER TWIST. With 28 Illustrations 
bv J. Mahoney. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents ; 
Cloth, f 1 00. 

MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. With 59 11- 
lustrations by J. Barnard. 8vo, Paper, 
00; Cloth, $I 50. 

Other volumes in preparation. 


ALBERT LUNEL. By the late Lord Brough- 
am. 8 VO, Paper, 75 cents. 


A BRIDGE OF GLASS. By F. W. Robin- 
sox, Author of “ True to Herself,” “ For Her 
Sake,” “Carry’s Confession,” &c. 8vo, Pa- 
per, 50 cents. 

LORD KILGOBBIN. By Charles Lever, 
Author of “Charles O’Malley,” &c. Illus- 
trated. 8 VO, Paper, $1 00; Cloth, 50. 

THE GOLDEN LION OF GRANPERE. 
By Anthony Trollope, Author of “The 
Warden,” “ Barchester Towers,” “ Orley 
Farm,” “Small House at Allington,” &c. 
Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 


GRIF : a Story of Australian Life. By B. L. 
Farjeon. 8v^o, Paper, 40 cents. 


BLADE-O’-GRASS. By B. L. Farjeon. Il- 
lustrated. 8vo, Paper, 35 cents. 


JOSHUA MARVEL. By B. L. Farjeon. 8vo, 
Pafier, 40 cents. 

THE LOVELS OF ARDEN. By M. E. 
Braddon, Author of “Fenton’s Quest,” 
“Aurora Floyd,” &c. Illustrated. 8vo, Pa- 
per, 75 cents. 


A GOOD INVESTMENT. A Story of the 
Upper Ohio. By Wm. Flagg, Author of 
“Three Seasons in European Vineyards,” 
&c. With Illustrations. 8vo, Paper, 50 cts. 

MISS MULOCK’S WORKS. Library Edition 
of Works by the Author of “John Halifax, 
Gentleman.” 12mo, Cloth, $l 50 per vol. 
The complete set, 17 vols., in neat case, price 
$25 00. 

Hannah. — Olive. — Ogilvies. — The Head 
of the Family. — John Halifax. — ^Agatha’s 
Husband. — A Life for a Life. — Two Mar- 
riages. — Christian’s Mistake. — A Noble 
Life. — A Hero. — Studies from Life, — The 
Fairy Book. — Unkind Word. — Mistress and 
Maid. — The Woman’s Kingdom. — A Brave 
Uady. 

POOR MISS FINCH. By Wilkie Collins, 
Author of “The Woman in White,” “Moon- 
stone,” “Man and Wife,” “Armadale,” &c. 
Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, $1 00; Cloth, $1 50. 


CECIL’S TRYST. By the Author of “ Carly- 
on’s Year,” “Gwendoline’s Harvest,” “Won 
— Not Wooed,” “Bred in the Bone,” “One 
of the Family,” &c. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 

MAUD MOHAN. By Annie Thomas, Au- 
thor of “Denis Donne,” “On Guard,” “Play- 
ing for High Stakes, ” &c. 8vo, Paper, 25 cents. 

OMBRA. By Mrs. Oliphant, Author of 
“Chronicles of Carlingford,” “Perpetual Cu- 
rate,” “Laird of Norlaw,” “Miss Marjori- 
bank.s,” &c. 8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 


THE AMERICAN BARON. By James De 
Mille, Author of “The Dodge Club,” “Cord 
and Creese,” “The Cryptogram,” &c. Illus- 
trated. 8vo, Paper, $1 00; Cloth, $1 50. 

EARL’S DENE. By R. E. Francillon. 8vo, 
Paper, 50 cents. 


NOVELS BY THE LATE CHARLES LEVER, 

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

8vo, Paper, $1 00; Cloth, 


A Day’s Ride. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 

The Bramleighs of Bishop’s Folly. 8vo, Paper, 
50 cents. 

Barrington. 8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 

The Daltons. 8vo, Paper, $l 50. 

The Dodd Family Abroad. 8vo, Paper, $1 25. 
Gerald Fitzgerald. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 
Glencore and his Fortunes. 8vo, Paper, 50 
cents. 

Lord Kilgobbin. Illustrations. 8vo, Paper, 
$l 00; Cloth, $l 50. 


Luttrell of Arran. 

$1 50. 

The Martins of Cro’ JSIartin. 8vo, Paper, $1 25. 
Maurice Tiernay. 8vo, Paper, $1 00. 

One of Them. 8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 

Roland Cashel. Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, $1 25. 
Sir Brooke Fosbrooke. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 
Sir Jasper Carew. 8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 

That Boy of Norcott’s. Illustrations. 8vo, Pa- 
per, 25 cents. 

Tony Butler. 8vo, Paper, $I 00 ; Cdoth, $l 50. 


N°™6tj Harper’s Magazine. 


NEW YORK, 
Aug., 1872. 


W ITH the June Number was commenced the Forty-fifth Volume of Harper’s Magazine. For 
the artistic excellence, as for the number of its illustrations, Harper’s Magazine is unsurpassed. 
Its immense circulation (over 130,000 copies) enables the Publishers to expend upon it, for literary and art- 
istic features alone, the sum of fifty thousand dollars a year. Containing from fifty to one hundred per cent, 
more matter than any other Magazine in the world, the greatest variety is secured in its contents, while it 
is possible, at the same time, to include long and important articles upon all subjects commanding the at- 
tention of the public mind. Each Number contains Serial and short Stories from the best writers in Eu- 
rope and America, contributed expressly for Harper’s Magazine ; richly illustrated articles of Travel ; 
carefully prepared papers of a Historical and Scientific character, a large number of which are profusely 
illustrated; timely articles upon important Current Topics; lighter papers upon an infinite variety of 
subjects ; Poems from our most brilliant and popular writers ; and five Editorial departments covering 
every matter of current interest in Art, Society, History, Science, Literature, and Anecdote. 

In addition to Miss Thackeray’s fascinating story, the present Number contains the first installment 
of a powerful serial story, entitled “A Simpleton,” by Charles Reade; and in the October Number a 
new serial story by Wilkie Collins will be commenced. Porte Crayon’s characteristic sketches will 
be continued, and each Number will contain one of Emilio Castelar’s series of papers on “The Re- 
publican Movement in Europe,” translated by John Hay. 

Published Monthly, with profttse Illustrations. 


VOLUME ) T T WT I For 

XVI. [ Harper’S Weekly. I is?.. 

H ARPER’S WEEKLY is an illustrated record of and commentary upon*the events of the times. It 
will treat of every topic. Political, Historical, Literary, and Scientific, which is of current interest, 
and will give the finest illustrations that can be obtained from every available source, original or foreign. 
This Journal contains more reading-matter, a larger number of Illlustrations, and is conspicuously better 
Edited and Printed than any other Illustrated Newspaper. Its circulation is nearly 160,000 — more than 
four times that of any similar publication. 

Among the attractions of the present volume are George Eliot’s “ Middlemarch,” a fascinating novel 
commenced December 16, 1871 ; Dore’s “ London,” in gratuitous monthly supplements, magnificently il- 
lustrated; and a new serial story, of great power and interest, “ A Woman’s Vengeance,” by James 
Payn, Author of “ Won — Not Wooed,” “Carlyon’s Year,” “Bred in the Bone,” etc. 

Published Weekly, with profuse Illustrations, 


VOLUME ITT TT (For 

V. 1 Harper’S Jdazar, i is?^. 

H ARPER’S bazar is a Journal for the Home. It is especially devoted to all subjects pertaining 
to Domestic and Social Life. It furnishes the latest Fashions in Dress and Ornament, with pat- 
terns ; describes in-door and out-door Amusements ; contains Stories, Essays, and Poems — every thing, 
in brief, calculated to make an American home attractive. The Bazar has a circulation of a^out 90,000. 

Published Weekly, with profuse Illustrations. 


Harper'S Magazine, Weekly, and Bazar. 

One Copy of either for One Year, $4 00. 

The three publications, the Magazine, Weekly, and Bazar, will be supplied, for One Year, for $10 00 in one remittance; 
any two of tliem for $7 00. 

An Extra Copy of either the Magazine, the Weekly, or the Bazar will be supplied gratis to every Club of Five Subscribers 
who send $4 00 each in one remittance ; or Six Copies, without extra copy, of either publication, for $20 00. 

The Volumes of the Weekly and Bazar commence with the year. When no time is specified, it will be understood that the 
subscriber wishes to commence with the Number next after the receipt of his order. 

The Volumes of the Magazine commence with the Numbers for June and December of each year. Subscriptions may com- 
mence with any Number. When no time is specified, it will be understood that the subscriber wishes to begin with the 
first Number of the current Volume, and back Numbers will be sent accordingly. 

Bound Volumes of the Magazine, each Volume containing the Numbers for Six Months, will be fumished for ^3 00 per 
Volume, sent by mail, postage paid. Bound Volumes of the Weekly or Bazar, each containing the Numbers for a 
Year, will be furnished for $7 00, freight paid by the Publishers. 

The Postage within the United States is for the Magazine 24 cents a year, for the Weekly or Bazar 20 cents a year, payable 
yearly, semi-yearly, or quarterly, at the office where received. Subscriptions from Canada must be accompanied with 
24 cents additional for the Magazine, or 20 cents for the Weekly or Bazar, to prepay the United States postage. 

Subscribers to the Magazine, Weekly, or Bazar will find on each wrapper a Number following their name which denotes the 
time their subscription expires. Each periodical is stopped when the term of subscription closes. It is not necessary to 
give notice of discontinuance. 

In ordering the Magazine, the Weekly, or the Bazar, the name and address should be clearly written. When the direction 
is to be changed, both the old and the new one must be given. 

In remitting by mail, a Post-Office Order or Draft payable to the order of Harper & Brothers is preferable to 
Bank Notes, since, should the Order or Draft be lost or stolen, it can be renewed without loss to the sender. The Post-Office 
Department recommends that, when neither of these can be procured, the money be sent in a Registered Ijettcr. 
The registration-fee has been reduced to fifteen cents, and the present registration system, the postal authorities claim, is vir- 
tually an absolute protection against losses by mail. A ll Posttnaste7-s are obliged to register letters when requested. 

The extent and character of the circulation of Harper’s Magazine, Weekly, and Bazar render them advantageous ve- 
hicles for advertising. A limited number of suitable advertisements will be inserted at the following rates: In the Maga- 
zine, Full Page, $500; Half Page, $250; Quarter Page, $150. In the Weekly, Outside Page, ^4 00 a line ; Inside Pages, 
$2 00 a line. In the Bazar, $i 00 a line ; Cuts and Display, $1 25 a line. 

NOTICE TO CONTRIBUTORS. — Contributors sending Manuscripts for the Periodicals are requested to prepay at letter 
rates — three cents the half ounce — and inclose stamps for return, if desired. The rate for book manuscripts (two cents for 
every four ounces) is not at present allowed by the Department to apply to manuscripts for periodicals. 



1 


# » 




1 


.i'v 


. A 


4 



^ ‘. ;>* ■>'( ■ ' ,. ■ 1 , 


’ > 


\ ■• 

’ .'x; 


•y* 




IVV;- 


»/ 

« 


f.: ■ 


• I 


m '. 


Mi 


I . 

4-’ 




-!♦ 


; 



» • 


' '' 

i?. 


f 

% 





;■ »* 




■> '• 


» 

V 4 

» • 


1 

I 


• > 

V ■ 


!♦ ■/ 





\ §k: 





dl 



« 




« 


I • 

• m • • • 

* 


» • 


. I 



t 


\ 


4 


,h-‘ 

\ 





h 








I 






I * * 

4. 



1 




kk' 


. 1 ^ 4 - A * 




V. . 

«.r2^.v 


* ‘ LjA 


►: . j.j J i 



4 





4 


\ 


■\ 4 i 


f 






I ► 


• % 


V 



< 





^4 

» 






li* 


I ■ 









^ ' ■' ■ ■■^' Jl 



i ■> 

t*' A'’*fSsr^ 



tT^ 


.Jtl s 







s' •' ^ ^ 










l.i '-v, 


, \ ■ V r . \£.\j» . 


:vW^’ 


t 









































